


An Offer of a Lifetime

by doragonnomizu



Category: Princess Tutu
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon, Romance, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2018-09-16 19:12:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 63,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9285992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doragonnomizu/pseuds/doragonnomizu
Summary: Two years have passed since the story came to an end and Ahiru finds herself discontent. In her desperation she accepts an offer from Drosselmeyer to become Princess Tutu again. The catch: she'll die in one year.





	1. An Offer of a Lifetime

**Author's Note:**

> This story is cross posted from FF under the same title and pen name.
> 
> Major Spoilers: Do not read unless you've finished the anime.
> 
> Please note I do not own Princess Tutu and am not profiting from this in any way.

_Once upon a time, there was a puppet. This puppet had grown tired of always being controlled by a puppeteer and desired to be freed from her strings so she could choose her own destiny. One day the puppet liberated herself from her thread prison, earning the ability to control her own future. But was this really what the puppet wanted?_

Kinkan Town was a small place where everyone knew each other and everyone had a set routine. On the outskirts of Kinkan there was a forest, and deep in the forest was a lake. Little did the citizens of this town know that this lake had a magical history: this lake was where a duck became a girl, and a girl became a hero. Now the lake was a prison to the once-hero, no longer a girl, now simply a duck. A duck whose friends had forgotten her. All of her friends, except one: a young man who was quite the catch, who was once a knight, who helped save Kinkan Town, a young man whose dearest friend was no more than a duck. Even with this one loyal friend, the duck was lonely most of the day. The young man had a life outside of the lake and could not just shirk his duties to spend his life with a duck—as much as he may have wanted. The duck could not even imagine how her friend kept his promise to stay by her side forever when they couldn’t even talk. How the duck desired to go back to being a girl, no matter how awkward she was.

The duck, whose name was Ahiru, had better days. When she was a girl she had long light poppy hair tied into a braid, a whisper of freckles across her cheeks, and big cornflower blue eyes. She was enrolled in Kinkan Academy for ballet, along with her friend, Fakir, and her previous love interest, Prince Mythos. Through the power of a pendant—a gift from a sadistic writer—the duck was able to become this girl, and the girl was able to become the graceful heroine, Princess Tutu. The princess was very similar to Ahiru in feature, the same build, the same appearance—minus the freckles—and the same gigantic heart that loved everyone and everything. The main difference between her two personas was grace: Tutu was a beautiful prima ballerina, whereas Ahiru was the awkward wannabe who had trouble with the basics of ballet. When Ahiru was Princess Tutu, she had the ability to calm peoples’ hearts, put their emotions at ease and give others happiness.

At first Ahiru donned the responsibility of Princess Tutu so she could see the prince’s smile. She hoped the prince would realize the feelings she was forbidden to speak, lest she turn into a speck of light, and give her happiness by staying with her after she put his heart back together. Somehow while she fought ravens and fate to restore Mythos’ heart, she came to realize her love for Mythos was not romantic. She cared for him, yes, as a friend, but her love for him was really for the hope he represented: the promise of a better future. It was for this and the life of her dear friend Rue she gave up her own desires and went back to being a duck. In the end Ahiru was left, stuck in a form that didn’t feel natural, without anything—save for her knight.

 “ **Little Ahiru, what bothers you so?** ” a deep baritone voice rumbled through the air, startling Ahiru from her silent reverie. Fear grew in her heart when she recognized the voice as being that of her nemesis, Drosselmeyer.

“N-nothing—!” Ahiru looked down at her hands—nope, still wings, and yet… “I-I can talk? Not just quack?”

A thunderous laugh filled the area as two red eyes appeared above her, “ **Haven’t you always been able to talk? Now, don’t dodge the question! Don’t you feel betrayed? After all, the prince left you to be with the girl who was trying to stop you from saving him! Poor Ahiru, forced to give up her dreams so Prince Siegfried could live happily ever after with another!** ”

“No! Rue stayed by his side all those years, suffering all that time!”

 “ **But what did she give up for the prince? You gave up your ability to be a girl, your ability to dance, your friends, and your happiness. And what did she give up?** ” Drosselmeyer’s wide smirk became visible as he taunted her, “ **Nothing.** ”

The poor duck’s eyes began tearing, not because she felt she was more deserving of Mythos, but because the reminder of what she once had had grown into a painful spike in her heart.

“It doesn’t matter!” Ahiru shot back, “I don’t want to be with him anymore!”

The smirk faded as the rest of his face appeared. As suddenly as his leer faded it came back with a vengeance. “ **Don’t want to be with the prince, hm?** ” he drawled, “ **But still missing something from your life?** ”

Ahiru turned away from him and closed her eyes, “No, I’m just a duck. Leave me alone.”

Suddenly a booming laugh shook the air around her as his visage dissipated behind her, “ **We will see, Ahiru, we will see.** ”

Ahiru relaxed a little now that he was gone, but her heart picked up pace. “We will see?” Ahiru murmured, perplexed.

“Ahiru, I’ve brought bread,” the voice of Fakir beckoned the small fowl over to him, alerting her he had come for their daily visit. Ahiru opened her beak, preparing to warn Fakir that Drosselmeyer was back, only to be rewarded with the sound of loud quacks. “What’s wrong Ahiru?”

Ahiru sighed and offered a soft, defeated “qua.” Quietly she began pecking at the bread pieces Fakir had tossed out to her.

Fakir sighed as he watched Ahiru bob with the water as she ate her crumbs. “Ahiru… do you ever miss being a girl?” Fakir whispered.

Ahiru stopped eating and looked up at him with her big eyes, “Qua?”

Fakir shook his head and leaned back on his elbows, “Why do I bother? I can’t understand what you say no matter how hard I try…” The yellow bird’s heart stopped when those words were uttered and she stared at the knight, not daring to utter even the tiniest quack. “Sometimes I just wonder… why we never got—” He cut off with a heavy sigh. “Sorry, I’m speaking nonsense.” He sat back up. “I can’t stay long today, Charon wants my help at the smithy.”

Ahiru quacked cautiously.

“I just wanted to make sure you had something to eat. Do you need anything?” Ahiru shook her head. “Alright, then. I should probably go,” he looked back at the duck and gave a half smile, “I’ll see you later, idiot.”

Ahiru didn’t even hear the last part as she watched Fakir’s retreating back. He seemed different today… “Qua…”

“ **I thought so, little duck,** ” Drosselmeyer reappeared, “ **you have fallen in love with the useless knight! My worthless great grandson has captured the young duck’s heart,** ” a laugh ripped through his lips, “ **The rejected princess and the unneeded knight! How delightful!** ”

“You’re wrong!” Ahiru insisted, angry he had insulted Fakir. “Fakir is just my friend, my only friend!”

“ **Oh? Is that so? Then perhaps it is the unneeded knight who has fallen for the rejected princess…** ” He squealed, clearly tickled with this thought.

“That isn’t true! Fakir is just lonely! He’s tired of visiting this miserable lake to talk to a miserable duck who he doesn’t even understand!”

Drosselmeyer’s lit up with malice, “ **Why, little duck! You’re miserable?** ”

Ahiru’s feathers ruffled. “Why wouldn’t I be?!” Ahiru shouted at him, her eyes filled with tears, “I’m a duck… just a duck…”

A glint could be seen in the maniacal eyes, “ **That could be fixed, young Ahiru.** ”

The small, yellow bird looked up at him, “Wha-what do you mean?”

 **“I’ve piqued your interest, eh? I’m making you an offer… An offer of a lifetime,”** Drosselmeyer watched as the duck struggled internally.

“What… what is your offer?” the young bird stared at him, knowing she would regret asking, but desperate to be a girl again all the same.

Drosselmeyer grinned, “ **Oh, nothing big. Become Princess Tutu again, help those whose hearts have gone astray, and you can even be a girl again.** ”

“No! I’m through with you!” She turned away from him, trying to keep him from getting to her, “You’re a horrible person who only causes pain!”

“ **Isn’t that what the prince did to you? Cause pain? You gave him everything, and he kept on taking. It wasn’t bad enough that he chose someone who was going to feed him to her father over you, no… he had to take away your dreams. He left you a _miserable duck_.** ” Drosselmeyer waited for her reaction.

“That wasn’t Mythos’ fault!” Ahiru whipped back around to face him. “That was _your_ fault!”

“ **Why shouldn’t you be happy Ahiru? Why shouldn’t you spend the rest of your life as a girl?** ”

“Fakir said we should go back to being who we are,” Ahiru mumbled.

Drosselmeyer chuckled, “ **Yes, and look how happy he is! His friend is a duck that he can’t even understand. If he had the chance, he would take those words back.** ”

Ahiru looked down at her reflection, “What… what’s the catch?”

With feigned innocence Drosselmeyer responded, “ **Catch? Why, little duck! I don’t know what you’re talking about!** ”

“ _What’s the catch_?” Ahiru reasserted. She had spent far too long dealing with Drosselmeyer not to know there had to be one.

Drosselmeyer’s lips stretched into a malevolent smile, “ **In one year’s time, you will die.** ”

“What?!” The duck sputtered as she tried not to choke, “Why would I make a deal like that?!”

“ **Honestly, little duck, it’s a small price considering the deal I’m making you. You’ll not only become a girl and Princess Tutu again, you’ll never turn back into a duck.** ”

Ahiru’s eyes widened, “Never…?”

He nodded, “ **Yes, never.** ”

“No,” Ahiru shook her head, “You won’t draw me into your schemes again. You’ve done enough damage! We defeated you!”

“ **Oh, come now, Ahiru. Such strong sentiments! I’ve only ever given you what you wanted, haven’t I? The end results were consequences of your actions.** ”

Ahiru would have growled if she were capable, but sadly she couldn’t. He was lying and trying to use fancy language to trick her. “No. I won’t give you the power to hurt the people I care about again!”

“ **Hurt the people you care about?** ” Drosselmeyer mused. “ **I can assure you I have the exact opposite in mind! Your old friends are already hurting!** ”

Ahiru stopped, “They are?”

“ **Well, what does it matter? You’re not interested.** ” He began dissipating.

“No, wait! What do you mean?” Ahiru shouted after him, hoping he wouldn’t leave.

His image reappeared, a large grin painted across his lips. “ **Caught your interest, have I?** ”

“How are they hurting?”

“ **They need Princess Tutu to guide them, to lay to rest feelings that have no place in their hearts**.”

Ahiru mulled over this. She knew this was a ruse, but what did he mean?

“ **No matter what happens you will die, little duck. Would you rather die after having one year of happiness, or would you rather die after years of misery and desolation?** ”

Ahiru looked towards the dock that Fakir usually sat on while he visited her; she wasn’t so sure she wanted to spend the rest of her life looking at that dock. If she could spend that year helping her friends, it was worth it, wasn’t it? She looked back at Drosselmeyer, reluctance tinting her voice, “I accept.”

The deceased writer’s eyes flashed, “ **Yes, very good.** ”

In a flash of light a pure white pendant appeared around her neck. Before Ahiru had time to marvel at the ivory gem, pain erupted in her body: her limbs began stretching, her feathers felt as if they were being plucked from her skin all at once, her beak softened and shrunk. Booming laughter made the lake vibrate as Drosselmeyer stared at the bubbles surfacing in the lake where a duck used to be. “ **Let the tragedy begin.** ”

 

* * *

 

Fakir sighed as he made his daily walk to the lake, the commute had gotten more and more depressing for him. Not being able to talk to Ahiru, watching her spend her days doing nothing but float… it was taking its toll on him. Lately he’s been having nightmares Ahiru would begin regressing into a normal duck—unable to understand him, afraid of him. Sometimes he feared it was already happening, how could he know if she actually understood anything he said to her? His visits with her had become something he both loved and dreaded, and he loathed himself for it. Ahiru had nothing left, no one remembered her except for him. No one visited her except for him, and he spent no more than two hours a day with her. What a lonely life she lived, and yet he often let himself dwell in self-pity.

“Ahiru!” Fakir shouted as he walked onto the dock. He frowned when no small feathered body approached him. “Ahiru?” In fact, there didn’t seem be anything yellow anywhere near the lake. “AHIRU!” Fakir shouted again. Panic began taking hold of his mind. “Damn it!” Had a predator attacked her? Were his fears coming true and she had left in search of other water fowl? He scanned the area multiple times until he caught a flash of yellow on the far side of the lake. Fear struck his heart he dashed around the shoreline.

When Fakir could see what the yellow was, he stopped dead in his tracks. It was a soaking wet shirt, clinging to the skin of a girl still halfway underwater. A girl with long, light poppy hair tied into a braid, a couple freckles dusting her nose, and feather like strands of hair limply sticking to her face. A girl who was very much Ahiru, and very not breathing.

“Ahiru!” he knelt beside her and shook her shoulders. Nothing. He bit his lip and leaned over, trying to see if her chest was rising or if he could feel her breath on his cheek. Again, nothing. Sucking in a deep breath, he leaned down and tilted her head back while pinching her nose. He pressed his lips against hers and blew air into her, giving her two breaths. He then popped back up and began thrusting her chest.

Following a cough, water spurted from the girl’s mouth and she moaned. Fakir desperately waited for the girl to speak to him, to prove to him she wasn’t a mirage, a dream he dreamt up to quell his guilt. “A…Ahiru?”

Cornflower blue eyes peeked up at him through thick, black eyelashes. “Fakir?” the voice was soft and hoarse, yet he could tell it had matured over the past two years.

The young man’s eyes flickered happily, “Idiot! You scared me.”

A small, tired smile fell on her lips, “I didn’t know that the great Fakir got scared…” her voice faded as she lost consciousness. Fakir studied her face for a second before his fingers fell to her carotid artery, checking for her pulse. Her heartbeat was strong beneath his fingers, removing any doubt he had of her health. He sighed in relief and scooped her small body into his arms.

“You’re hopeless.” Despite the words, a bright smile stretched across his lips as he carried the duck-girl through the town and back to his house; the curious whispers following him not even phasing his mood.

“Fakir, you’re back early. Dinner’s not ready yet, but—” Charon, Fakir’s adoptive father, cut off when he noticed the sopping wet young woman in his son’s arms. “Is she alright?” Charon asked immediately, dropping what he was doing to check on the girl’s health.

“I think she’s just unconscious… I don’t-I don’t know what happened.” Fakir faded off as Charon gently yet forcefully led him to the bathroom.

“I’ll draw a hot bath, you get her clothes off.”

Fakir’s face flushed as he looked down at the girl in his arms, “W-what?! Bu—”

Charon looked at his son in utter disapproval as he fiddled with the bath. “Fakir, she is soaking wet, shivering, caked in mud, and unconscious. We need to clean her off and get her warmed up. Don’t be a child.”

Feeling thoroughly chastised, Fakir just nodded in response. He didn’t want to invade Ahiru’s privacy, but his father was right. With a muted gulp, Fakir carefully set her down and began prying off her dripping clothes, trying his best not to look at her.

“You can leave her underwear on, if you’re so uncomfortable,” Charon suggested. “Just get her in the bath. I’ll go find some towels and blankets. Make sure her head doesn’t go underwater while you clean her.”

Thankful he didn’t have to completely strip her down, Fakir lifted her back up and gently set her in the warm water Charon had filled the tub with. Already mud, algae, and blades of grass began floating to the surface of the water. He paused, noticing for the first time, the almost glowing white pendant around her neck.

“What happened, Ahiru?” Fakir wondered aloud as he began rubbing dirt from her skin with a soaped wash cloth. Her skin was paler than it was before, he mused. Her skin wasn’t the only thing that had changed in the past couple years. She was a little taller, her hips a little wider, her chest slightly fuller. The freckles that once covered her cheeks and nose had gone down in number. As he began undoing the mess of a mud-caked braid, he noticed her hair had also gotten longer.

When it became clear the water was too dirty to work with anymore, he drained the tub and used the washcloth to clear out as much of the grime left over as he could. Once he was satisfied with his job, tossed the washcloth on top of her dirty clothes and began rinsing her body and hair off with a few buckets of warm water, clearing away whatever grime had stuck to her.

Charon walked in with two large towels. “Here,” he said, handing one to him, “dry her off with this.”

Fakir nodded, awkwardly trying to both pick her up and wrap her in the towel. With Charon’s help he was able to dry off her skin and wring most of the water out of her hair. Charon took the towel from him and gave him the other one to wrap her in.

“We’ll keep her by the fire until she dries off,” Charon said, walking back toward the kitchen.

Fakir set Ahiru down in front the fire, placing her head on the pillow Charon had set out for her. Charon draped a blanket over her half-covered body. “She looks awfully familiar… A friend of yours?”

Fakir stood before nodding at him, “Yeah. She’s an old friend of mine. She used to come over here a lot a couple of years ago.”

The blacksmith’s eyebrow furrowed, “Oh? I don’t seem to remember her… What happened to her, anyway?”

“She—” Fakir paused. What did happen? He had no clue. Why was Ahiru suddenly human again? “—I don’t know. I just found her on the lakeshore.” he opted to tell the truth.

Charon nodded and glanced down at the svelte girl. “There’s nothing else we can do until she wakes up. Why don’t we keep an eye on her while we eat dinner?”

Fakir nodded and followed Charon to the table, his eyes lingering on his sleeping duck’s form.

 

* * *

 

“ _Would you rather die after having one year of happiness, or would you rather die after years of misery and desolation?”_

“ _I don’t want to give up being Princess Tutu… I don’t want the story to end.”_

“ _It’s not so bad, going back to being a duck. After all, that’s what you are: a duck.”_

“ _Yes, and look how happy he is!”_

“ _In one year’s time, you will die.”_

“ ** _Come little Ahiru, it is time you make this tragedy a masterpiece.”_**

Ahiru bolted up, her eyes wide in fear. “Wh-what?!” she looked down in surprise when she heard a human voice instead of her quacking.

“Ahiru? You’re awake!” a deep voice exclaimed from beside her.

Ahiru turned to the owner of the voice, recognizing it immediately. “Fakir!” She launched herself at him excitedly. Her body was wrapped tightly in blankets, making her fall over, taking him with her, but she didn’t seem to mind much as she clutched his middle. “It wasn’t a dream! I’m human again!”

Fakir was thankful he had the patience to put Ahiru’s clothes back on her after Charon had washed and dried them. Had he left her in just her underwear he wasn’t sure he would recover from the embarrassment. She was, however, fully clothed, and despite her long hair chaotically fanned out across his and her body, he returned the hug thankfully. Not too long ago he was convinced he would never see her as a girl again.

 Ahiru pulled back from him, focused on braiding her untamed mane—his hug alerting her to its unkempt state. As she did so, she seemed to forget she was currently sitting atop of Fakir’s legs. He moved one of his legs to try and remind her. With a squeak, she tried to get off of him, only succeeding in tripping over the blanket she was still bundled in. Fakir couldn’t help but laugh when she toppled over onto the ground beside him with a dull thud.

 “You didn’t change at all, did you?”

Freckled cheeks puffed at the statement, “I have too, Fakir! I’m two years older, thank you! Lookit!” Ahiru jumped up, this time taking the time to untangle herself from the blankets, “See? I’m, er… well, I’m uh… taller.” she placed her hand atop her head and showed him that she nearly reached his shoulders now.

Fakir couldn’t help but smile at Ahiru’s attempts to prove she had grown up since the last time she stood as a human. He blushed slightly, she had changed—he would never tell her that he had noticed, though, like when he was bathing her a few days prior...

“Fakir? What’s wrong? You look like you’re overheating.” Ahiru pressed her lips together as she reached up to feel his forehead.

“I’m fine!” he asserted before her hand reached its destination. He sighed and gave her a small smile. “I’m just glad to see you again, to _hear_ you again.” He wanted to just leave it at that, she was a girl now and she could reclaim her life and they could get the happy endings they were denied, but he just couldn’t. “How? What happened?”

Light blue eyes peered up at him with a slightly clouded gaze. ‘Did Drosselmeyer really come back? Did I really make a deal with him? I can’t tell Fakir, he’d be furious with me! I don’t even know if it really happened.’ “I… don’t know…” she diverted her gaze to the window, “I was on the lake and there was a bright light and I felt like my body was stretching—it hurt so much. Then coldness engulfed me and everything went black.”

Fakir studied her profile for a second before adding, “And the pendant?”

The former duck blinked and looked down at her chest where the pearlescent gem hung from a simple black cord, similarly to her last pendant. “I… er…” she peeked up at him through her bangs and bit her lip before shaking her head, “I don’t…”

Fakir grunted before turning away from her. “Come on, you’re probably hungry.”

Ahiru mentally sighed and cursed herself for not telling Fakir, but it was better he didn’t know, especially if she had made a deal with Drosselmeyer. She followed Fakir, the suggestion of food enticing her stomach. As he led her down the hallway, Ahiru reached down and fingered the stone around her neck in wonder. ‘Be Princess Tutu once again, huh? What would be my purpose then? The Prince no longer needs his heart…?’

“Watch where you’re going,” Fakir absentmindedly commanded when Ahiru ran into his back. “I don’t need you walking into things.”

“Sorry Fakir!” she dropped her pendant quickly and scratched the back of her head. Fakir pulled a chair out and indicated for her to sit. When she did so, he walked over to the oven and began reheating some leftovers.

“Charon’s been making extra of every meal since I brought you back from the lake,” he admitted while he worked.

“How long was I out?” Ahiru asked in surprise, it felt like only hours ago those macabre eyes stared at her on the lake.

“About three days.”

Ahiru’s eyes widened considerably, “What?!”

“After the first night we had a doctor look at you, but he just said nothing seemed to be wrong with you.”

Ahiru gripped the hem of her flowing white skirt. Clearly she had imposed on him and Charon a great deal. She looked at Fakir’s back. “Where is Charon?”

“He’s at the shop. He won’t be back until closing time,” Fakir glanced back at her.

“So… how have things been going?” Ahiru absently toyed with the fabric in her hands.

Fakir smiled slightly as he shook his head and set a plate in front of her, “Please, nothing has changed since the last time we talked.”

“That was two years ago.” She grabbed the fork that was beside the plate and began digging into the mass of food before her.

Forest green eyes softened as he stared heavily at her, regretting making that comment. “I—”

“Oh wow! This tastes amazing Fakir!”

‘Got out of that one I guess.’ Fakir half laughed at the rambunctious girl as she tore into the food.

“This is the best meal I’ve had in years!” Ahiru stuffed her mouth full, making it hard for her to chew, but somehow got through it. Fakir shook his head and tried to stop himself from laughing at the spectacle she made of herself, knowing she’d get mad at him. Honestly though, she made it too easy. While she shoved another carrot into her mouth his eyes fell down to the ivory stone that hung from her neck. He knew it was the key to the mystery to her sudden humanity. “We should really look into that pendant. What if it’s Drosselmeyer again? Or something worse?”

Ahiru stopped eating, her appetite suddenly dissipating. “But, we defeated him. And you destroyed the machine. I saw it with my own two eyes. How could he come back?” she avoided his gaze. But, she had asked the question sincerely: Just how would— _could_ Drosselmeyer come back to make a deal with her after they had defeated him?

“Anything is possible with that man. Are you sure you didn’t see him at all?”

Ahiru glared at him, “Are you calling me a liar?” She mentally cursed herself, ‘Well, he should be, dummy!’ If it was true and she did make that deal with Drosselmeyer she couldn’t let Fakir find out. She didn’t want to bring him into it.

Fakir groaned in frustration, “No. Just… forget it. I need to go to the library, just… make yourself at home.” He stood up and walked towards the door. He looked over his shoulder before walking out and added, “Oh, and, don’t break anything.”

Ahiru huffed, “Yeah, I missed you too!” she added in a mumble, “Jerk.” She had upset him, and she knew it. All she could do was hope he wouldn’t figure out she was keeping something from him. Her blue eyes scanned the room before she got up and began exploring Fakir’s house. The previous times she had been here she never actually got to look around. She only saw the kitchen-dining room and the hall. “Oh! Those are…” Ahiru felt a smile stretch across her lips when she saw a portrait of a much younger Fakir. “Aww…”

_Thip. Thip._

“Oh!” Ahiru gasped and looked down at the floor. Two small, dark splashes were on the floor.

_Thip. Thip. Thip._

The spots grew bigger. “What…?” Ahiru lightly touched her cheeks, only to find them wet. “Am I… crying?” The tears had come unbidden and were now uncontrollably falling from her eyes. “Why can’t I stop?” She looked back up at the picture of Fakir as a young child.

‘I only have a year left with him. I don’t want to spend it fighting…’ The tears feel with increasing rapidity. “I’m sorry Fakir! I-I… I hate lying to you so much! I’m sorry for betraying you.” Ahiru turned her back from the picture and slid down the wall where she cradled her head between her knees as she sobbed.

“ **That’s right little Ahiru. Sink into despair!** ”

Ahiru’s head shot up. “Drosselmeyer?!” He didn’t respond. It seemed it might not have been a dream, after all. She shook her head. “I have to be strong! I’m going to live this year to fullest and make Fakir proud of me!” The duck reached down and wiped her eyes off with her white skirt before she pushed herself off of the ground. “I’ll prove my worth to him!”

 

* * *

 

Charon stretched his arms above his head and kicked his shoes off at the door. “Oh. Fakir must have cleaned up some…” The floors had been swept and the furniture seemed to be dusted.

“O-Oh! I’m sorry, sir!” a soft voice stammered, “I had nothing else to do really, and I uh… wanted to thank you for your hospitality… So I thought that—”

Charon grinned widely when he realized their invalid had awoken, “Ah, I see you have awoken! Ahiru, is it? Fakir never told me your name, but I heard him mumble it a time or two.”

Ahiru nodded, brushing some of the salmon strands of hair out of her face, “Yes, sir.”

“Please, call me Charon!” he lightly placed his hand on her back and led her to the living room, motioning her to sit down, “As much as I appreciate the gesture, you don’t have to clean the house. You just woke up after nearly drowning, you should be resting!” the blacksmith gently took the cleaning rag from her and tossed it in the laundry. “Now, where is that troublesome son of mine? He should have been here to make sure you were alright when you woke up.”

“Oh, he was! He left a couple of hours ago, though.”

Charon shook his head in exasperation, “That boy!” He sat down on the chair across from Ahiru. “I hope he didn’t offend you in any way, he can be rude when he doesn’t mean to. He was very worried about you, hardly left your bedside! I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so concerned before in my life.”

Ahiru smiled warmly at the thought of Fakir worrying over her. “It’s alright,” she assured him, “Fakir wasn’t too rude, he was just going to check on something at the library.”

Charon’s eyes beamed. “That boy and his books; he has writing in his blood. His great grandfather was a great author, I’ve heard.”

The duck barely stifled the ironic laugh that bubbled in her throat. “He would make an excellent writer… I wish he would write more.”

“Ah, perhaps that will never happen. Ever since the accident…” he faded off and the two could hear the door close and a scuffle in the hallway.

“Ahiru, did you—” Fakir stopped when he saw his father sitting across from the girl, “Oh, Charon. You’re home early.”

Charon’s eyebrows rose. “And I see you’re finally home. This poor girl was left to take care of herself.”

Fakir’s eye twitched and he looked toward Ahiru who stared back at him with a worried expression. “I apologize. There was something urgent I needed to look into.”

The blacksmith looked at him skeptically, “I don’t get you sometimes, boy. You spent that whole time worrying your mind out over this here girl and then—”

Ahiru stopped him, “Don’t get mad at him, please. It was my fault really,” she scratched the back of her head. “He was looking into something for me.” She wasn’t lying, she knew what he was at the library for: to try and figure out why she was human again.

Charon sighed, “Well, that still doesn’t make it right. Alright, well, I guess I’ll get on to making dinner.” He stood and glanced at Ahiru, “And Fakir? Maybe lend her some clean clothes, she’s been sleeping in those for a few days.”

Fakir nodded in consent, not wanting to further upset him.

Before going about making dinner he added, “And don’t do anything untoward to her while you’re upstairs, Fakir.”

“Ch-Charon!” His face flushed a striking red.

A rolling chuckle trailed behind the aged man as he walked into the kitchen.

“Hmph. Well, come on,” Fakir grunted and led Ahiru back to his bedroom.

Ahiru watched as Fakir rustled through his drawers for some smaller clothing that would fit her better. “Thank you Fakir.”

Fakir stopped and looked up at her, “What for?”

“For rescuing me.” Ahiru smiled at him.

He snorted and went back to what he was doing, “Stop being sentimental, idiot.”

Ahiru’s smile widened and she looked around the room, it was obviously Fakir’s: a writing desk was in the corner, books piled on top of it, the head of a small desk light barely visible behind the pile, everything was neat and orderly. Not to mention his dresser was in there…

“Oh, Fakir! Where have you been sleeping? Isn’t this the room I was in?”

Fakir could feel the concern seeping from her. “I slept on the couch.”

Her delicate brow furrowed, “But this is your room, I should’ve slept on the couch!”

Fakir dropped an old dark blue shirt into her hands along with a pair of black pants. “Don’t worry over it. You were sick, we weren’t about to dump you on the couch.”

Ahiru stared up at him with a soft smile, “Thank y—”

“Just get changed, will ya?” Fakir left the room, shutting the door behind him—which didn’t do much to muffle the “idiot” he muttered.

“Hey, I heard you, jerk!” Ahiru shot at him. “I swear…” she stopped to stare at the yellow panties she had just taken off. “Oh.” Of course! Undergarments! She only had one set, and those were the ones she was wearing. She did _not_ want Fakir washing those for and her and definitely did _not_ want to wear his clothes without panties on. “Great…”

Hearing her lamentation Fakir called through the door, “You alright in there?”

“Fine!” She glared at the yellow cloth, “You win this round.” She pulled them back into place with resolution before slipping on the pants and discarding her shirt.

_Click._

Fakir looked up when the door opened. Ahiru came out dressed in his clothes from a handful of years ago, yet she still swam in them. However, the one thing that really drew his eye was that snow white pendant of hers; it seemed to give off an ethereal glow when outlined in dark colors.

“Here,” neatly folded clothing were presented to him, “I, uh—”

“Dinner’s done,” Charon’s voice boomed from downstairs.

Fakir grunted and turned away from her. ‘I’ve got to figure out where that pendant came from.’

 

* * *

 

Ahiru’s eyes fluttered open, only to snap back shut when streams of bright light fell onto them. “Mmh…” She forced herself to sit up and went for the window. “Oh.” It was a surprise to her, really. She opened the window, yet she wasn’t mobbed by a flock of birds. With a slight feeling of longing, Ahiru closed the window again and went to get dressed when some yellow cloth caught her eye.

On the dresser her shirt and skirt were neatly folded and placed. Ahiru smiled and changed into them before heading downstairs.

A deep voice greeted her at the bottom of the stairs, “I see you’re finally awake.”

“Oh, Fakir! Thank you for washing my—”

He interrupted her, “I’m going to the library, and you’re coming with me.”

Excitement filled her eyes, “Autor’s still working there, right? I haven’t seen him in a long time.”

Fakir groaned and handed her a piece of toast. “Yes, now come on.”

Sunshine seemed to flow from Ahiru as they walked through town: waving at people she used to know, greeting those she didn’t, inspecting every same and different detail of the town. Everything was so special to her and made her happy; Fakir himself couldn’t help but smile when he was with her.

“Fakir, look! The florist has a new species of flower out! Oh and the baker is selling some specialty loaves! Wow! Everything’s so beautiful!”

Fakir laughed, “Ahiru, you’re scaring everyone.”

“Oh!” she stopped flitting from store to store and stand to stand. “I didn’t mean to. Sorry everyone!”

He rolled his eyes and turned into the library. “Come on now, I don’t need you making a scene.”

Rows of books greeted them and Fakir quickly went to work, looking through shelves with a memorized ease. Every once in a while he would pull a book out and set it on a table in the corner of the room. Ahiru looked around warily; it was a waste for her to be here. She already knew why she was human.

‘No, it’s not a waste. I get to spend it with Fakir.’ She glanced through the titles, and bit her lip. She didn’t want him figuring out why she was human. The look her would give her… she wasn’t sure if she could ever face his disappointment. Was the answer even in a book?

“Can I help you?” a strange voice asked from behind her.

“Oh, Autor!” Ahiru grinned at him, “It’s been a while!”

Autor pushed his glasses up. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

Ahiru’s eyes widened and she looked down. ‘I guess he forgot who I was, too.’ She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I, uh… I’m a friend of Fakir’s. I’m here with him.”

“Oh, I see,” Autor looked at her oddly and his eyes flashed with deep emotion. “And what is Fakir here for?”

“He’s… uh… researching something. Drosselmeyer, I think.”

Autor groaned, “That again… Very well, just keep it down.” With that, he disappeared behind the row of bookcases.

“Oh!” Ahiru glanced down at the stone around her neck. It was glowing an almost blinding white and a sense of warmth engulfed her. “Autor has…?” She glanced towards Fakir who was studiously pouring himself over the books he had collected before following after Autor.


	2. Tainting the Pure

_Once upon a time, there was a man who was in love with a woman. Though she, too, loved him, he thought she loved another and stayed by her side, never once voicing his feelings. One day, the woman disappeared without a trace. The man, devastated, spent the rest of his life looking for her, only to realize it was too late._  

Fakir’s brow furrowed as he scanned over the words in the book. Everything was so cryptic it was hard to make heads or tails of any of the information, and what little that made sense wasn’t useful. Hell, he doubted if the cryptic parts were any help either.

‘Ahiru… Who did this?’ he glared angrily at the book for not giving him any answers. ‘Why are you human? What is that pendant? Why does it seem like you’re fate’s plaything?’ These questions among many others whirled around in his head, begging for attention—an answer. Was the answer even in a book? There were many fairy tales in which a woman became an animal, but not the other way around—at least in their region.

Fakir’s eyes softened suddenly when he saw an old woodprint of a crying princess in one of the books. He had been treating the fact that Ahiru was human again like it was a curse, but that wasn’t at all the case. There was a chance for them to get their happy ending now. She could start dancing again and reunite with her old friends, she could do things that her previous role wouldn’t allow. Was it really a curse? And he… he could be with her again. They could talk and argue; he felt when he was with her, he could do anything. Was that why Ahiru was acting weird around him? He hadn’t really shown her how happy he was to have her back. Did she feel like he didn’t want her around?

Dark green eyes couldn’t stop themselves from wandering across the room to where he had last seen Ahiru, only to find her missing. He half smiled and tried to concentrate on his book again. “Idiot probably got lost.”

 

* * *

 

It was a familiar sensation to her, an almost _golden_ heat engulfed her and it dissipated like water dripping from her skin. For the first time in two years, Ahiru stood gracefully en pointe. It was the exact same outfit as she had remembered—except for everything was pristine white. Even the pendant was the same, but completely white. The once gold crown and necklace she wore were now silver and the former golden bracelets were made of pearls.

  _“_ **A swan’s feathers are white, after all.** ”

“Autor, please tell me what bothers you so.” Princess Tutu stared at him with concerned eyes.

His eyes widened. Could it be, from his favorite story by his favorite author, a character with such a minor role, yet _here_ , in the flesh? “Princess Tutu?”

 She nodded. “You are hurting.” It was a simple statement.

 He squinted suspiciously then looked away from her. “What do you know? You aren’t even allowed to speak your feelings.”

 Slightly taken aback at his assertion, she blinked, but quickly recovered. “All the better to understand your sorrow.” She approached him with an air of elegance. “You have emotions that you cannot explain, emotions which seem to have no place, and they are causing you grief.”

 Autor looked at her in surprise. Had it been so obvious?

 “Please… come dance with me.”

 Autor stared at her hand in disdain, but another feeling bubbled, something familiar, and it told him to accept. “I… I feel longing for something I do not remember… I feel as though I loved someone, but lost them. From that feeling stems a burning anger.”

 Princess Tutu leaned forward and lifted her leg, arabesque. “There are feelings from the past that will always haunt us. We may not remember who or what caused them, but it is important we do not let them stop us from living in our current emotions.” She gently lowered her leg and carefully turned on her pointes.

 As they performed chaînés, Autor felt himself being lulled into a sense of relief. There was something so calm and relaxing about the prima ballerina’s dance. “But it feels so important…”

 “And those emotions are important. Each and every emotion we experience is important, but we can’t let any of those emotions hinder the ones we feel now. We experience them and let them pass.”

 “That’s right. Who I lost is no longer here, and if I keep on holding on to that love, I’ll forget to live my life.” Their dance ended in a bow.

 Princess Tutu straightened up, a calm smile stretching across her lips, “Th—” She was interrupted by a loud grunt and Autor falling backwards, a dark light leaving him. “Autor!”

 She rushed at him, but stopped short when the black light was absorbed into her pendant, a shooting pain pulsing through her body instantaneously. She tried to scream, but she found she couldn’t as her body was enveloped in an excruciating pain. Darkness enveloped her as she collapsed to the floor.

 

* * *

 

_“…happened…”_

_“I don’t…”_

_“…hiru!”_

 

“Ahiru!”

 

Ahiru groaned as her eyes fluttered open, her head throbbed dully. “I have a headache…”

 “Ahiru,” Fakir, who was kneeling aside her with his hands on her shoulders, sighed in relief. “What happened?!”

 As the world began to spill into her senses her eyes widened and she scanned the area for Autor. He stood just behind Fakir, a strange expression reflecting on his face. Seeing he was alright, Ahiru looked down in a panic, she wasn’t still transformed, was she? A sigh escaped her lips when she saw she wasn’t. A flash of pale gray caught her eye, causing her breath to get stuck in her throat. The once pearlescent gem that hung around her neck was no longer white.

 “Ahiru?”

 Throwing her worries aside, she focused on the issue at hand. “I… I don’t…” She bit her lip as she tried to think of what to say. “I’m not really sure?” Ahiru admitted. Sure, she knew she had become Princess Tutu, and how she became Princess Tutu, but why? What was going on? Drosselmeyer had mentioned becoming Princess Tutu again, but he hadn’t said much on the matter. What was that light? Why did it go into the pendant? Why did it hurt?

 Autor adjusted his glasses as he bent down closer to Fakir. “I had…” he paused as a slight blush of embarrassment colored his cheeks, “I had collapsed, it would seem, while doing some research. When I came to I saw her here on the floor.”

 Fakir shot Autor a look, “I know that much. You made such a racket it’s a wonder no one else came to see what was going on.” The writer looked back to Ahiru, his eyes softer. “Do you remember anything?”

 “I-I…” She couldn’t possibly tell Fakir she had become Princess Tutu, could she? Wouldn’t it make him panic more? Spend more time trying to figure something out she wasn’t willing to tell him. No, she decided. She hated lying to him, but she knew she wasn’t ready to tell him. “I think I’m just… still a bit… tired? From almost drowning, you know?” She winced at the lie.

 “ _Drowning?_ ” Autor looked aghast. “Fakir! You would take someone out after almost drowning? Really.”

 Fakir glared at him, though it seemed the words had affected him.

 “No, no!” Ahiru tried to assure him, “I wanted to go out, really! It’s been so long since I’ve been out, so…”

 The pianist seemed unimpressed. “Ahiru, was it?” He paused for her to confirm. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather lay down for a bit?” He offered her a hand.

 With a sharp glance, Fakir helped Ahiru up, forcing her to reject Autor’s assistance. He didn’t like the way Autor was acting toward her. “I’ll take her back home so she can rest,” Fakir asserted.

 Autor withdrew his hand with a shrug. “If you insist.” He offered Ahiru a nod, “Do take care of yourself, okay?”

 Ahiru responded with a small nod, cautious of her headache.

 Fakir eyed Autor warily as he escorted Ahiru toward the door, bending slightly to accommodate her height.

 Autor watched them until they disappeared from his vision. The female’s eyes had taken him aback. They were a gorgeous sky blue, the kind you could get lost in—the kind the prima ballerina in his dream had had. He absently adjusted his cravat, “Ahiru, huh?” He’d have to get to know her better. With a final glance to where he had found her, he headed toward the aisle he frequented the most. He had a desire to read his favorite book, _Prinz und Rabe_ , again.

 

* * *

 

“I can walk on my own, ya know…” Ahiru mumbled as Fakir yet again readjusted her arm across his shoulders.

 “Oh, please. You’re such a klutz you’d probably walk into something and get even more hurt.”

 “Fakir, you’re really blowing this out of proportion!”

 Fakir laughed dryly at her, “I’m blowing this out of proportion, huh?” he shrugged his shoulders to reposition her arm, _again_ , “Just quit complaining and let me help you.”

 Ahiru exhaled, any retorts she had disappearing from mind. “I—alright, Fakir. I trust you.”

 “Hmph,” he stared ahead of them as he made sure to prevent any collisions. “What happened back there, Ahiru? Are you really just fatigued?”

 She looked back at him, her eyes downcast. “I-I’m not quite sure, honestly.” What was that black light? She bit back a groan at the pain reverberating through her heart, ‘What did I get myself into?’

 “Don’t think so hard, you might hurt yourself again.”

 Ahiru glared up at Fakir for the comment but stopped short when she saw the amusement in his eyes. “Fa…kir?”

 His emerald eyes turned away from her aquamarine ones and back to the stone-paved road before them, “Hey, after we get home, I’ll make something for you to eat… I didn’t exactly give you a chance to eat breakfast this morning.”

 Ahiru blushed, “You don’t have to, really…”

 “Oh, I didn’t know Fakir had a girlfriend!”

 “What?! Fakir’s taken?! Aw, no fair!”

 “It can’t be too long before they break up, right?”

 “Of course they’ll break up! Look at her, she’s so awkward!”

 Fakir scowled at the particularly loud group of so-called “Fakir Girls,” earning multiple squeaks from the three of them. He glanced down at Ahiru, who appeared to be completely oblivious to the whole scene. He smiled at her innocence—just as he remembered her. He once again repositioned her arm, though she was slowly coaxing him into letting her support her own weight. Within minutes he settled with her hand in the crook of his elbow.

 “Hey… I—”

 “Oh, Fakir! When did you plant these?” Ahiru pulled away from him and went over to a bed of flowers outside of his house.

 “Charon planted them last year… they just grew back this year.”

 Ahiru grinned and bent down to sniff one of them. “Mm! They’re beautiful, I love flowers, they remind me of Freya—she loved them so much and—” she stopped when her eyes landed on a pair of flowers: one pristine white, the other blood red. Suddenly she was overcome by longing and hatred, her eyes darkening at the sight.

 “Ahiru?”

 Ahiru smiled again before jumping back to her feet, “They’re lovely!”

 Fakir shook his head and took a hold of her elbow, “Come on, let’s get you inside.”

 “Eh?! Fakir?”

 Fakir opened the door and tugged Ahiru in behind him. He closed the door behind them with a soft ‘click.’ “Go lay down on the couch.”

 Ahiru puffed up at his command, “Hey! I’m perfectly alright! I’m walking on my own, aren’t I?! I was just… just…”

 “Just what? Well? Ahiru, we really can’t take any chances when we don’t know what’s going on here! So just go lay down, moron!”

 Ahiru looked down, “Okay,” she mumbled.

 “I’ll go warm up some leftovers, in the mean time stay here.”

 Ahiru ‘hmphed’ as she lounged back on the couch, turning her back to him. ‘What am I supposed to do? Count the grains in the table? Oh, yeah, that’s some fun right there!’ she paused when her eyes caught a white gleam from her pendant. ‘It’s white again!’ With cautious fingers Ahiru cupped the stone in her hand and inspected it. ‘But… I was certain it was gray back at the library! I know it was! I…’ With pursed lips she looked out the window. ‘What didn’t Drosselmeyer tell me?’

 Soft blue eyes became a glaring navy as she looked up towards the clouds. ‘I miss Mythos…’ she closed her eyes, her fingers curling tightly around the gem, ‘Why did he pick Rue? Why?!’ The thought paralyzed Ahiru as soon as it came unbidden to her mind, causing her to gasp, ‘Where did that come from… I don’t… I don’t love Mythos anymore... I never really did love Mythos…’

 “The food is ready.”

 “I’m coming,” Ahiru called as she stood up, pushing her previous thoughts to the back of her mind.

 As she walked to the kitchen a pale gray stone once again returned to pure white, unnoticed.

 “You don’t mind leftovers, right?” Fakir asked as he sat down in a wooden chair across from Ahiru.

 Ahiru shook her head, “No, not at all!” she gratefully accepted the food, “Thank you!” Hardly waiting until the last syllable left her lips, she began stuffing her face.

 It never failed to amaze Fakir how boisterously she ate. ‘Just like she does everything else.’ Smiling, he shook his head and followed suit—just less ravenously.

 After a few moments Ahiru set her fork down and looked up at Fakir. She bit her lip before beginning, “Say, Fakir? Are you mad at me?”

 Fakir’s eyebrow furrowed as he looked up from his plate of food, “What? Why would you think that?” So maybe he hadn’t shown her how happy he was she was back.

 A blush flooded her cheeks when blue and green met, causing her to look down. She avoided his gaze and drew circles with her finger in the suddenly all-too-intriguing cotton table cloth. “Well, it’s just that since I’ve woken up, you seem on edge and all… Not that that’s a bad thing, or anything. ‘Cause it really isn’t, ya know? I mean, maybe I’m just being stupid, because it’s only the right thing to be concerned as to why a duck suddenly became a human and considering my last time as a human, I—” in her panicky ramblings Ahiru had became oblivious to what she was doing, and in a very Ahiru-like moment her glass of water went toppling down, soaking the cloth instantly.

 “Ah! I-I’m sorry!” she squeaked as jumped from her chair and frantically ran around the kitchen looking for a towel. By the time she found one and returned to the table the water had mostly been absorbed into the white cotton. “Er… I uh! I’ll get it!” Despite the growing dark spot, she began pressing the towel onto the fabric, trying to get up as much as she could.

 “Don’t be silly,” Fakir finally said, “I’m happy for you.” Big, lazurite eyes peered up at him in surprise, to which he added, “I just think you should be more concerned with how you became a human. If another story has started, who knows what could happen. And you’ll be in the center of it... again.”

 Ahiru diverted her gaze and went back to mopping up the water, this time less vigorously. ‘I guess I didn’t really think over how this would affect Fakir… I just wanted to be happy.’ “I’m… sorry.”

 Fakir stood up, picking up his dishes as he did so, “Don’t be, it’s just water. Just throw it in the laundry.” He seemed to stop to think for a moment before he collected her dishes as well and headed for the sink.

 “Oh, right,” she looked down at the wet cloth and the yellow towel in her hand. She drew all the corners up to the middle and carried it over to the laundry. Fakir was scrubbing the dishes in the sink when she returned.

 Ahiru’s cornflower blue eyes became downcast as she leaned back against the wooden wall and worried her bottom lip between her teeth. ‘I… can’t seem to do anything right anymore… I should’ve never made that deal with Drosselmeyer. I’m just being selfish,’ she glanced up at Fakir through her thick bangs, watching the muscles flow in his back as he scrubbed each plate. ‘I think I made my decision too brashly…’

 “Ahiru?” Fakir asked, sensing her presence.

 Ahiru lifted her head up, “Hm?”

 Without turning around Fakir replied, “Are you going to help with the dishes or what?” A small smile stretched across her lips and she nodded before skipping to his side to help.

 

* * *

 

_Click click click._

Drosselmeyer grinned maniacally and watched the duck giggle as she splashed his great grandson with soapy water. “It is all coming together wonderfully, little duck. I knew you’d be the star of my greatest tragedy yet,” he laughed.

 Uzura watched with wide, curious eyes as Fakir splashed Ahiru back, sharing in her laughter.

 

* * *

 

Charon sighed as he stared at the kitchen which was now dripping wet, the occasional pile of suds visible. “I should’ve known better than to leave you kids alone…”

 Ahiru looked down in embarrassment before looking back up at him, her eyes remorseful, “I’ll clean it up, it’s my fault anyway: I started it.”

 Charon chuckled and patted her shoulder. “I’m sure Fakir did something to warrant the aggression,” to this Fakir interjected but was ignored, “he’ll wipe it up, it’s not too bad. I need to talk to you in the living room.”

 “Er… are you sure? I mean… I did make most of the mess,” Ahiru looked over at Fakir. He didn’t seem upset, which was a good sign.

 “Just go talk to him, moron.” Fakir lightly pushed her forward.

 Charon shook his head at Fakir, “That’s no way to talk to a lady, Fakir. Now, this way please, Ahiru.” Charon gently led the small girl into the living room and gestured for her to take a seat. “Now, from what I understand, you’re an orphan, am I correct?”

 Ahiru looked up at him in surprise, her thoughts wildly racing in her mind, ‘Am I an orphan? I don’t remember ever having parents… Not even as a duck…’ After a couple of seconds Ahiru nodded her head. “Yes…”

 Charon strummed his fingers quietly on the couch arm. “I thought as much. I tried to get information of your origins from Fakir while you were sick so I could notify your parents, but he didn’t say anything.”

 Ahiru stared down at her hands and nodded again, suddenly feeling sad at the realization. ‘I never even thought about it…’

 “Well, I simply will not have a young girl such as yourself wandering the streets. Do you have a guardian?” Charon asked empathetically. Ahiru shook her head. “Alright, in which case, I insist that you stay here. We have an extra room that I can clear out and put a bed in for you to stay. Would that be alright?”

 The duck looked up at him with wide eyes. “Wh-what, really? I… I couldn’t impose!”

 Charon shook his head, “No, not at all. I insist that you stay. It’s not the kind of world where a young girl can live on the streets. Plus, it’s not often I get to see Fakir with a friend.”

 “Alright… i-if you’re sure…” Ahiru relented, seeing that she wouldn’t change the aging man’s mind.

 “Of course I’m sure!” Charon grinned. “Naturally, we’ll have to buy you some more clothes, and a mattress. You can stay in Fakir’s room until we get your room done, he can sleep out here...”

 Ahiru blinked in surprise and smiled as she listened to Charon enthusiastically describe everything that needed to be done in order for her stay. Well, at least he seemed to want her around. It wasn’t like she had anywhere else she could stay.

 “You don’t mind helping out around the house then?” Charon finally asked.

 She shook her head, “Not at all.”

 “What’re you two talking about?” Fakir asked when he entered the living room.

 Charon turned towards his son and patted his back. “I need you to take Ahiru to the market tomorrow to buy her some clothes.”

 The knight’s eyebrows knit together. “What for?”

 “For her to wear, Fakir! I’ve decided Ahiru will be staying with us until she is old enough to take care of herself.”

 A strange look entered Fakir’s eyes for a second before he shrugged. “I should’ve known that this is what you were up to.”

 “Well, if you don’t want me to stay,” Ahiru crinkled her nose and her voice took on a slightly offended tone.

 “I’m just worried the house will blow up,” Fakir shot back.

 Indignantly Ahiru replied, “Yeah, because of you!”

 “I’m not the stupid one!”

 “You are too!”

 Charon scratched the back of his head and laughed. “Well, no more dull days around here at least…”

 

* * *

 

“Alright well, goodnight, Idiot.” Fakir muttered as he shut the door, leaving Ahiru alone in his bedroom. She puckered her lips in annoyance, but let it fade as she stripped out of her clothing and pulled on one of his old shirts.

 “Hm… it smells like him…” her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed in realization as she dropped the collar of his shirt from her nose and flailed her arms. “Not that I know what he smells like! Not at all! Ha ha… ha... ehh… I really need to stop talking to myself…”

 “ **How does it feel being a human again, little Ahiru?** ” maniacal red eyes replaced the wall and the rest of Fakir’s room faded into a hazy black.

 “Drosselmeyer!” an invisible wind rustled her hair and clothing as she turned to face the giant eyes.

 Laughter reverberated throughout the air as he replied, “ **Why, yes, that is my name.** ”

 “What was that black light? And why did the pendant turn gray?!”

 “ ** _Ooooh,_ that?** ” His inflection dripped with feigned innocence. “ **Just a little something, it’s nothing really. Don’t worry about it.** ” Drosselmeyer smiled maliciously, “ **All is to be revealed in due time.** ”

 “I want answers now!” Ahiru stomped her foot and glared up at the apparition. “What is going on?! What haven’t you told me?!”

 Drosselmeyer faked hurt, “ **I came to check on how you were doing, and all you can do is demand things from me? How selfish…** ”

 Ahiru frowned, “Don’t make me out to be the bad guy.”

 “ **Of course you aren’t, Ahiru. I have a much better part for you in this story.** ”

 She bit her lip. It had been obvious from the start he was starting another story, but hearing the words was almost painful to her. “How can you even write another story? Fakir destroyed your machine!”

 An uproarious cackle shook the air, “ **That _machine_?!** ” His words were choked with his laughter. “ **I wrote that story in _blood_!** ”

 “What?” Had Drosselmeyer given her a clue?

 Drosselmeyer grinned, “ **Oops, I said too much,** ” he laughed once again and it faded along with the darkness surrounding her, _“ **I’ll be watching you… Ahiru...** ”_

Ahiru looked around frantically, everything was back to normal. Drosselmeyer had left, and gave only one clue as to what was going on. Ahiru fell to the ground. “I shouldn’t have agreed to this. What have I done?” she rubbed at her eyes furiously, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall over. ‘I’m so sorry Fakir, I keep on failing you…’

 Once she was assured that the tears wouldn’t spill onto her cheeks she pulled herself off of the floor and plopped down under the covers. She blew out the candle next to Fakir’s bed, and allowed herself to drift into a restless sleep filled with ominous laughter and dripping blood.

  _‘I need to make things right before… before the end.’_

 

* * *

 

“Hey! Ahiru! Would you wake up already?” Fakir knocked loudly on the door, trying for the tenth time to draw the girl out of bed. “I’m not going to wait all day for you!”

 Ahiru moaned and turned over, her blankets falling off of the bed. “Just five more minutes…”

 “No! You said that an hour ago! Get up already, idiot!”

 “Alright, alright… jerk,” Ahiru scrunched her face up as she pulled herself off of the bed. She quickly pulled her clothes back on after throwing Fakir’s shirt on the bed. “What’s the hurry, anyway?”

 Fakir rolled his eyes on the other side of the door. “We’re supposed to get you new clothes, moron. Let me guess: you already forgot.”

 Ahiru swiftly opened the door, accidentally hitting Fakir square on the nose, “Oh! Sorry, Fakir! I didn’t realize you were right in front of the door…” she remorsefully leaned forward to check the battered appendage, “It’s not bleeding, I don’t think…”

 Fakir’s eye twitched. “Well, that’s good to know.”

 She scratched the back of her head, “So, we’re going to buy clothes, right?”

 “Indeed.”

 “Erm… so, let’s go!” Ahiru hurried down the stairs eager to avoid any rants that Fakir was certainly prepared to bombard her with for the door to his face.

 “Slow down, you’re going to hurt yourself again.” Fakir managed to catch up with her at the bottom of the stairs.

 The petite girl stuck her tongue out at him. “Not too long ago you had said I’d hurt myself simply by walking.”

 “And running increases those chances tenfold,” Fakir returned. He grabbed her braid and proceeded to pull her towards the door.

 “Hey! I thought you didn’t want me to get hurt! For your information, hair pulling _hurts_!” she shouted until he let go of her hair.

 Jade eyes scanned her figure for a moment before looking out towards the town around them. “So, where to?”

 Ahiru mused for a second, “Well… I never actually went shopping before,” she pressed her two forefingers together in thought. “Why don’t we just browse, I’m sure I could find something.” Fakir shrugged and began walking into the street, “Hey! Wait for me!” she squeaked and ran after him.

 “How about here?” Ahiru asked while stopping in front of a small stand, “These look nice…” she looked at the neatly folded clothing on the oak counter.

 “They’re a real deal too, dearie!” an energetic woman greeted the two and gestured towards the rainbow of clothes before them, “Every color possible, you’ll surely find one to match your complexion!”

 Ahiru grinned, enjoying the woman’s energy as she fingered a light blue shirt. “Did you make all of these?”

 The woman’s smile was from ear to ear, “Why, yes! They’re of the finest craftsmanship you’ll find! Even better than the tailor, if I may boast!” Ahiru laughed, finding the woman’s personality congenial. The woman looked from Ahiru to Fakir then clapped her hands together. “How sweet! Your boyfriend is taking you shopping! If only my husband were so kind!”

 Ahiru and Fakir’s faces instantly flushed as they quickly denied the woman’s accusation, “No, no, not at all! We’re just… like—”

 “—Cousins!” Fakir finished for the flailing duck, though he was fairing none better.

 The woman frowned, “No need to hide it dears... Oh well, what do you think?”

 Fakir grabbed the two shirts that Ahiru held and thrust them towards the woman, “We’ll take these, thanks.”

 With the prospect of a sale, the jovial female’s countenance immediately uplifted, “Wonderful, I’ll ring these up for you!”

 Ahiru stifled a laugh at Fakir’s expression and proceeded to glance around the area. There were many peddlers on the sides of the streets, though mostly of the grocer variety. There were a handful of trinket shops, and a few clothing stands, though most of them contained more extravagant apparel.

 “Alright, where to next?” Fakir asked. A brown bag now hung from his right hand.

 “Where do you usually shop?” Ahiru looked up at him in question.

 “I don’t normally shop for clothes, moron.”

 “Hey! I was just asking a question! No need to get all snappy!” She stuck her tongue out at him. “Plus, that doesn’t even make sense. You have to buy clothes sometimes, right?”

 “Not often enough to have a ‘usual’ place.”

 Ahiru groused at him before setting her mind to finding another clothes shop.

 The rest of the morning went fairly similar to the first purchase, but when all was said and done they were able to find Ahiru five complete outfits—a respectable purchase, by any means. Naturally, at one point Fakir was sent off to buy some drinks—Ahiru wouldn’t allow him to go with her to buy _unmentionables_ , though she was certain he really didn’t want to, anyway—which afterwards ended their excursion.

 The duck grinned merrily and hummed a small tune while she sipped some of the lemonade that Fakir got her. “Is that everything, then? You don’t need any groceries, right?”

 Fakir looked at her from the corner of his eye and nodded, “Charon normally shops for groceries.”

 “I’ll make dinner then!” Ahiru offered.

 Fakir blanched. “That’s… that’s okay. Really.” He was not about to forget the last time Ahiru cooked something.

 Ahiru frowned. “But, I want to repay you for the clothes!”

 “Then why would you want to poison us?”

 “Hey!” Ahiru glared at him and stuck her tongue out for the umpteenth time that day.

 “That’s not very becoming of a sixteen year old; you should start acting more like an adult.”

 The girl ‘hmph’ed and crossed her arms, “And this is coming from the _nineteen_ year old who still calls me childish names like “moron” and “idiot.”

 “Maybe if you didn’t act like a five year old I wouldn’t have to dumb everything down for you.”

 “Jerk!”

 “Moron.” Fakir turned his head to hide the smile that was forming on his lips, he had missed their arguments. A moment passed before he spoke again. “Just… go put these upstairs and I’ll make lunch.” He handed the brown bags to her.

 Ahiru scrunched her nose up at him and took the bags from him, “Fine.” She turned on her heel and padded up the stairs, a soft smile on her face.

 

* * *

 

Rusty brown cogs turned, causing the ones connected to them to move as well. Delicately balancing on one, shifting from foot to foot on each spoke as it turned was an old man with fleur de lis-esque facial hair and lavish clothing. Rumbling laughter filled the air, mingling with the clicking sounds of the cogs surrounding him. Distantly, another sound joined the others and slowly grew louder as a small figure approached.

 “Ducky Knighty wuvy lovey! Love love-zura!” a tiny girl with sea foam green hair rapped her drum with a grin.

 The man jumped down from his rotating perch and landed before the reborn puppet, “The story is in motion once again, Uzura. What do you think?”

 “Ahiru and Fakir are luv-luv-zura!” Uzura proceeded to tap on her toy with a wide grin.

 Drosselmeyer frowned at this and turned, stroking his beard. “Yes… this is a problem. Their relationship does seem to be developing especially fast...” He whipped around to face the ecstatic child again. “We’ll just have to put a little… wedge in that, won’t we?” A malicious smirk stretched across his face. He eyed the gear showing Ahiru carefully setting the table while Fakir stood in the background heating up leftovers from their previous dinner. “Little duck, you have proven to be a most… interesting character. I looked forward to your performance.”

 Uzura watched the scene before her as well with a much different intent. A large smile brightened her face up. ‘Ahiru’s lovey-dovey!’

 “This will be my greatest tragedy yet, enjoy your happiness while it lasts, Ahiru.”

 


	3. Lucid Disillusionments

_Once upon a time, there was a girl who was in love with a prince. Despite her ardent love, she was a mere commoner unable to even meet him. “Oh,” the girl cried, “if only the prince would love me, I would give anything!” The next day the prince proposed to her. Distraught, the girl found to gain his love, she had given away her own._

Fakir squinted as he tried to find his way through the thick fog that choked the air. It was a great relief when he was finally able to make out the shape of the lake. On the nearby shore stood a svelte figure, the long feather-like strand that stuck stubbornly up giving away its identity.

“Ahiru!” he paused before he ran towards her: her erect figure and distant eyes made her look older. He shook his thoughts before hurrying to her.

Without looking at the knight she greeted him, “Fakir.”

“Ahiru, what’s wrong?” he was concerned by the lack of her normally upbeat countenance.

Suddenly she turned towards him, her features returning to their usual youthful appearance. “Fakir,” she grabbed both of his hands between her own, “don’t be silly! I’m perfectly alright!” Her cornflower blue eyes softened as she smiled. “I have you to protect me, right?”

Fakir’s cheeks flushed, but he nodded. “O-of course.” Why was her face getting closer? When did he start leaning forward?

For a second Ahiru seemed to hesitate, but a smile soon stretched her lips. “Thank you.” With the last uttered syllable her pupils bled into her iris, turning them black as she fell from his grasp and into the lake behind her.

* * *

“AHIRU!” Fakir gasped and sprang up from his pillows, a cold sweat coating his body. He breathed heavily for a moment as he processed his surroundings before letting himself fall back onto the couch. ‘Damn it. I need to find out what’s going on before she gets hurt. Never again…’

* * *

Ahiru woke with a start, her blue eyes wide and her pupils dilated. Her mouth hung open in a silent scream as she wildly clawed at the air in front of her, trying to catch a fantasy that had already faded. Slowly, her eyes came into focus, the familiar surroundings of Fakir’s room instantly calming her. Her arms fell to her sides, bouncing just slightly from the impact on the mattress. She closed her eyes and carefully opened them again. After repeating the motion a few times she heaved a sigh of relief.

Sunlight filtered into the room through Fakir’s plain white curtains, indicating it was fairly early. The duck rubbed her eyes before turning and setting her feet on the hardwood floor. Salmon locks shone in the natural lighting, emphasizing every snarl, mat, and knot that was the product of her restless night. Warily, she stood and walked—albeit clumsily—to the dresser where a slightly rusted platter held a couple brushes. Groggily Ahiru studied her choices, not yet conscious enough to figure out which one she needed. After a few moments of debate, her thin fingers curled around one before she padded back to the bed.

It was force of habit that her fingers could move so quickly and with little stumbling as she gently brushed out the tangles in her wavy strands. Once she was satisfied with her work, she fumbled through braiding her hair before she proceeded to dress.

Nearly a month had passed since Charon had made the decision that Ahiru would become a permanent resident of his house. Since then many of his hours at home were spent preparing her room—despite her protests. He insisted that he make her room more accommodating before she moved into it; the “more accommodating” being in the form of hand carved bed frames and dressers. Today was supposed to be the last day she commandeered Fakir’s bedroom.

The girl sighed as she flicked her stubborn hairs that stood straight up, “Well, best to start the day bright and early.” She put the brush back on the platter—another gift from Charon to make her feel more comfortable—before heading downstairs.

“Ah! Ahiru, you’re up early,” Charon greeted her with a grin. “Your room is almost finished. I just need to add one more touch, so don’t go in there until tonight.” His eyes danced in excitement.

Ahiru smiled back at him. “You really don’t need to go through all of this trouble. I would be happy with just a bed. Isn’t this taking away from your work at the smithy?”

Charon shook his head as he turned back to the food he was making. “I’m more than happy to. And I’ve only worked on it in spare time.” He paused for a second before adding, “If you’re uncomfortable with it being for you, then consider part of it for Fakir.”

The girl blinked, staring at the older man’s back in confusion, “…Fakir?”

“With you around, Fakir seems _happier_. Part of the reason I want to have you stay is for him.”

The corners of Ahiru’s mouth turned upwards. “Alright. For him.” A moment passed as she played with the hem of her shirt. “Would you mind if I went out later today?”

“Not at all! What did you have planned?”

Blood flooded in her cheeks, her fingers moving more rapidly along the end of her shirt. Already Charon had done so much for her, and yet here she was asking for something that cost money. “Well, I er… No problem if you don’t… I… That is—bird seed!”

A voluminous chuckle rumbled in Charon’s throat at the girl’s antics. “Bird seed is hardly an expense. No need to be so flustered about it.”

The duck’s cheeks darkened as she turned her attention towards the floor, “I should… I’ll start the laundry.” She paused at the door jamb, glancing over her shoulder. “Thanks, Charon.”

“No problem, kiddo.”

Within the second day Ahiru was granted residence in Charon’s house, the girl insisted that she did the laundry and the cleaning. Charon seemed reluctant to have her do so much, but relented upon seeing Ahiru’s resolve was steeled. Since then she made rounds every morning to collect the laundry and washed it before breakfast. She maintained that this way they had all day to dry out, giving her more time to clean the house. Of course Fakir scoffed at her tendencies to over work herself—a rainstorm proving her inabilities to do so much when she forgot to bring the laundry back in. After which, it was decided Ahiru would yield the kitchen to the men in the house.

A soft smile curled the ends of her lips upwards as Ahiru grabbed the dark brown wicker basket she used to gather the dirty articles. It was nice to feel wanted, something Ahiru wasn’t all too familiar with. The feeling alone was enough to make the work seem enjoyable. With a slight spring to her step, Ahiru made her rounds before heading out to the backyard.

“Time to get this finished!” Ahiru nodded in determination as she rolled her sleeves up higher and grabbed the first article of clothing.

_“You disgust me, Ahiru.”_

With a sharp gasp, the shirt in her hands fell into the tub of water, her eyes wide. She knew the words were from her nightmare the previous night, but they echoed so resolutely in Fakir’s voice.

_“You’re a duck, not a human. Stop pretending.”_

“But I—I…”

“Ahiru?”

Ahiru jumped in surprise, flailing wildly when she lost her balance. Before she hit the ground two arms steadied her. “Fakir?”

He shook his head, “I should have known doing the laundry would be hazardous to your health—Or perhaps _you’re_ the hazard.”

“Hmph! You could just say ‘thanks,’ jerk.” She stuck her tongue out at him before going back to concentrating on the shirt that was now waterlogged.

A grin stretched across his face before he began, “I figured you’d be out here. Charon’s done with breakfast.”

She frowned as she swiftly rubbed the shirt against the board. “I haven’t finished the laundry yet.” Once satisfied with her job she rinsed the cloth and wrung it out.

Fakir took the shirt from her before she could get up and hung it up for her. “I figured you’d say that.” He paused. “There’s something else I wanted to talk about.”

“Oh?” She looked away from the pants she was washing and up at him.

“I talked to the administrator at Kinkan Academy. You can start taking ballet again—next week.”

Ahiru’s eyes lit up as she dropped what she was doing leapt up at him. “Oh! Thank you Fakir! Thank you, thank you!”

Fakir’s cheeks flushed bright red, but he eventually returned the hug—only to have Ahiru rip herself from his arms and dance around the area. He couldn’t help but laugh at the spectacle she made of herself.

“I’ll get to see Lilie and Pique and—well, I suppose that Neko-sensei won’t be there anymore,” Fakir confirmed this with a slight nod, “But I get to see all of my friends again! I can’t wait!”

The writer laughed, satisfied with her reaction to the news and bent down to pick up the pants she was washing, “Charon is waiting for us, you know. I’ll help you finish the laundry.”

With a wide grin Ahiru accepted his help and knelt back down to hurry through the laundry.

* * *

Ahiru pulled her hair back tightly in a bun before covering it with a scarf. A spark shone in her eye as she squeezed the large sponge in her hands before bending over and breathing in deeply. As soon as she exhaled she launched herself forward, running in a crouch with the sponge pressed against the smooth, hardwood flood. Naturally, it was only a matter of time before the girl ran into something—rather, someone.

“Perhaps you should look where you’re going, idiot.”

“Hey! You weren’t there when I started!” Ahiru objected as she struggled to get back on her feet.

Fakir sighed and gently pulled her up. “I’m supposed to help Charon today at the smithy… he said you were planning on going out today, correct?”

Ahiru nodded, “Yeah, after I finish washing the floors and dusting.”

“Can that wait until after? If we leave now we should be able to get back with enough time for me to go.”

Ahiru frowned, “I don’t need you to escort me to town. I’m perfectly capable of going on my own. I did fine on my own before.”

Fakir groaned, “Don’t be so difficult, you’re my responsibility now and—”

“I’m _sixteen,_ Fakir! I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself— _and_ Charon already gave me money so you can’t use that excuse.” She pulled the crumpled bills out of her pocket for effect.

“Are you sure you’ll be fine?” he sighed, “A lot has changed in the past two years—and after your particularly vivid display of grace a few moments ago—”

“Fakir!” Ahiru pursed her lips as she started pushing him towards the door. “I can take care of myself! Now go!”

The knight finally gave in and turned around. “Alright, but if you get lost, don’t come crying to me.”

The duck snorted and slammed the door on his back. “Hmph! That’ll teach him!” she said with a nod before turning around. “Well… back to work I suppose. Got to make the floor sparkle!” she giggled and picked up the sponge.

* * *

Washing the floors went fairly quickly—now that all mobile objects were removed from the household. After thoroughly mopping the floor she went about dusting the furniture—her feet firmly placed on two rags. Once she was satisfied that everything was well dusted she quickly polished the wood furniture.

“Perfect!” Ahiru grinned widely and stepped off of the rags. “Now…” she murmured softly to herself as she picked up the rags and discarded them in the brown wicker basket then headed towards Fakir’s room. “I should probably change,” she crinkled her nose, “I’m pretty dirty.”

Once content with her clothing she grinned and did a quick twirl in the middle of the room before running down the stairs. “Alright, bird seed time!”

It was a nice day out, the sky was a perfect azure with only a few fluff-like clouds dotting it and the townspeople seemed absolutely delightful. The cobblestone streets were a nice slate color, and children scurried across it chasing after one another while adults watched on in amusement. Ahiru smiled as her eyes followed the movements of a young boy helping his younger sister across the street. ‘Everyone is so happy! It’s like the story never even happened.’ Not a single being was out of place—humans walked on two feet and animals on all fours.

It wasn’t long before Ahiru found her way back to the small shop she normally purchased her bird seed from; the small store hadn’t changed at all—other than the wall climbing ivy had grown and was now covering part of the roof as well. Her wide, blue eyes filled with wonder as she open the door and stepped inside, a small bell ringing as the door eased shut.

“Can I help you, Miss?” a small old man asked from behind the counter.

Ahiru beamed at him, recognizing him instantly as the owner. He, like his shop, hadn’t changed much either—save for his ever-thinning hair. “I’m here to purchase some bird seed, sir.”

The man’s dull eyes lit up as he straightened his back the slightest bit. “What size would you like, Miss?”

“Large, if you don’t mind,” she paused before adding, “I’ll get it, sir, you can stay there.”

He laughed and fiddled with his wooden cane, “You know how to treat an elderly man, that’s for sure.”

After a few minutes of trying to heave the bag over her shoulder, the poppy haired girl finally got the bag to the counter. “Is this enough?” she asked while handing him the crumpled currency from her pocket.

“To the dot.” He grinned and accepted the money then handed her the receipt. “Thank you for your business.”

“I couldn’t imagine buying bird seed anywhere else. Have a nice day!” Ahiru once again took to half carrying, half dragging the large bag out of the small store.

“You too, Miss.”

Ahiru sighed heavily as she continued pulling the bag through town. It was as heavy as she remembered it being, and she received as many bewildered stares as she had before, too.

“Aw, how adorable! Won’t she look cute in this?” a familiar, shrill voice rang out through the air.

A slightly raspy voice answered her, “Yeah! He’ll ask her out for sure if she wears this!” Ahiru couldn’t help but look over in curiosity, her cornflower blue eyes scanning over the square she was in.

Over in the far corner, in front of a dress shop, were two girls, both wearing a Kinkan Academy uniform. The taller of the two, of whom the raspier voice belonged to, was a slim girl with short magenta hair pulled back tightly in a bun—save for a few strands framing the left side of her face. Her features were sharp and angular—almost exotic. The shorter of the two was a girl with a small frame and wavy blonde hair held up with two pink ribbons. In a split second, Ahiru was able to recognize them: Pique and Lilie. Other than Lilie’s new found curves and Pique’s slightly darker hair, they were just as Ahiru remembered them.

The corners of her mouth curled upwards slightly as she raised one of her hands in greeting as she started to shout, “Pique! Li—”

“—lie!” A figure flashed past her, finishing her sentence for her, “Hey!”

The two females by the store turned around, “There she is! As late as always, how cute!”

A girl who looked to be Ahiru’s age approached the others, a sheepish expression on her face as she scratched the back of her head. She had cerulean hair cropped in a neat pixie cut and pale skin dotted with honey colored freckles. “Eh heh. Sorry, guys.”

“Detained after class again, Lory?” Pique asked with a knowing grin.

“Naturally!” Lilie fawned as she wrapped the girl in a tight hug, “Our little Lory couldn’t dance right to save her life! Aw, how cute!”

Ahiru watched in melancholy, a sense of déjà vu falling over her as she watched the blue-headed girl flail her arms in desperation for oxygen. Of course she had been replaced, to Pique and Lilie she had never even existed. What right did Ahiru have to intrude on their happiness? She swallowed, trying to push the lump in her throat back down as she held back tears of dejection and once again gripped the heavy bag of seed in her hands.

‘They look so cheerful,’ Ahiru mused, ‘They’re genuinely happy. And I… I couldn’t. Even if they did take me back as their friend… they have Lory and… If they get attached to me again, only to have me die in a year—I’m being selfish. I can’t just come and leave again, it’s bad enough I’m doing it to Fakir.’ She sighed, ‘I have to stay away from them, for their sakes.’

“Ahiru?” a deep voice shook Ahiru from her thoughts, making her jump in surprise.

“Eh! W-What?!” she whirled around, bumping right into someone’s chest, the impact throwing her off balance and to the ground. “Oh!”

The male offered his hand to her and helped pull her back up, “Careful. Do you need some help?”

Ahiru blinked in surprise as she steadied herself, “I suppose I… do—sorta… need help. Oh, Autor!”

Autor nodded slightly before shouldering the bag entirely. “Where do you live?”

“Er… at Fakir’s house,” she offered. Her cheeks turned a brilliant red when she realized how scandalous the arrangement sounded. “I-er… I didn’t have anywhere else to go so… Charon offered me a room…” her voice faded off in embarrassment as she looked down at her feet and took to counting every crack she stepped over as they walked.

The pianist didn’t comment on her dwellings, his only acknowledgment being an arched eyebrow. “Are you feeling better?”

Ahiru stared at him with wide eyes until she registered what he meant. Last time he remembered seeing her was collapsed on the library floor. “Oh! Yes, yes.” She waved his inquiry off with a hand. “I’m feeling much better now!” She jogged a few steps in time with his to prove her point. “See?”

Autor offered a small laugh, “I see.”

A moment of silence passed, making Ahiru uncomfortable. Normally Autor had no issues holding a conversation—especially one-sided conversations where he talked about himself and his passions. Why was he so quiet?

“So, what do you do for a living?”

Ahiru almost let out a startled quack, but was able to force it down. “Hm?” The question itself was genuinely surprising, no one had ever asked her such a question. Ahiru mused, “I’m… sort of a live in maid I guess… Well, I only do laundry and clean the living room and hallway but—” she cut off abruptly, not knowing how to answer him.

“You look rather young, don’t you go to school?” The sunlight glinting off of his glasses blocked Ahiru’s view of his eyes, making her even more uncomfortable.

“I used to go to Kinkan Academy for ballet—but I had to drop out due to some… issues. How about you? You play piano, right?”

To this, Autor looked down at her. “Yes, actually. During the day I work in the library, but in the evening I play piano at a restaurant.”

The girl grinned up at him, her previous discomfort leaving her, “That sounds so fun! I wish I could play piano well… or do anything well, for that matter… Don’t you just love the sound of music?”

The librarian looked at her oddly before turning his attention back to the sidewalk, “I believe we’re here.”

“Oh! Thank you for your help, Autor. It would’ve taken me forever to—”

“Ahiru?” Fakir’s voice cut her off as the green haired boy appeared from inside the house, “What took you—Autor.” His voice filled with surprise when he said the other male’s name.

Autor inclined his head ever so slightly before gesturing towards the bag on his shoulder, “I was merely offering my assistance. I’m surprised you sent her on such a bodily errand, Fakir.”

Fakir frowned and glared stonily at him, “Thank you for helping her. I’ll take it from here.”

Autor shrugged and tossed the bag to Fakir, its weight making the knight stagger back slightly as he caught it. “You’re welcome,” he dismissed. “Good day.”

Ahiru blinked and watched as Autor disappeared around the corner before Fakir began lecturing her, “Ahiru! I told you not to overdo it! You should have gone with me earlier if you were going to have so much trouble!”

Dragging her attention away from Autor’s path of retreat, she regarded the knight moodily. “I didn’t think it would be as heavy as it was before!”

“Don’t be so stubborn, idiot! Now come on, Charon’s already made dinner.” He turned around sharply, the bag of bird seed resting on his shoulder, and led her into the house. “Go on in,” he instructed as he gestured towards the kitchen, “I’ll go put this in your room.”

She ‘hmph’ed and spun on her heel before marching into the kitchen. Her anger flared when Fakir let out a low chuckle.

“Ahiru! There you are!” Charon greeted from the table. He had already started eating from the looks of it. He grinned and gestured towards the seat opposite of him. “Fakir was pacing the room waiting for you,” he laughed.

“Oh. He knew where I was…” the girl murmured as she sat down, her anger dissipating.

Charon guffawed as he set his fork down, “It was all I could do to keep him from going to get you!” He looked back at her, a bright twinkle gleaming in his deep eyes. “I’ll admit, I was getting sort of anxious myself—I can hardly wait until after dinner.”

Ahiru glanced at him while she shoveled out some mashed potatoes onto her plate, “Why’s that?” A bright smile stretched across her face, Charon’s excitement becoming contagious.

He put on a mock disappointed face, “Have you already forgotten? Today’s the grand unveiling of your room!”

Ahiru blushed as she looked back at her plate, she had forgotten—between Fakir’s announcement that morning, cleaning, her trip to buy bird seed, and running into Pique and Lilie then Autor, she had completely forgotten about today’s big event. “How could I forget _that_?” she asked, perhaps a little too quickly.

Fakir held back a grin as he sat down in the chair next to her. “Don’t mind her, Charon. Her brain can’t retain too much information, or it’ll implode.”

“Hey!” Ahiru objected indignantly, “It will not implode! Stop being so mean, Fakir!” she indulged in her childish habit of sticking her tongue out at him. This seemed to amuse him even more. “Hmph!” she frowned and glared at her plate, refusing to make eye contact with him.

Charon sighed in exasperation, “You two…” he shook his head. That was the last thing that was said during dinner, the rest of which was eaten in a moderate silence, albeit sparked with anticipation.

As soon as Charon finished eating and began washing dishes the air took on a tense, anxious energy, making Ahiru antsy as she tried to eat quicker. The tension snapped as soon as she put her fork and knife down.

 Charon spun around with a large grin plastered across his face. “Let’s go see your room, eh?” He helped her up gently and led her down the hall and up the stairs, Fakir following closely behind.

“Ch-Charon! My dishes!” the girl gasped in surprise when they stopped in front of a closed door.

Laughter bubbled in his throat as he patted her back, “Don’t worry, they can wait. Okay, close your eyes.”

Ahiru did as she was told and breathed softly. A metallic click sounded and a slight wave of air blew past the girl, rustling her bangs. Charon’s rough hands carefully pushed her forward before he stopped her. “Okay, open them.” She could almost feel his excitement seeping from him.

Soft blue pools fluttered open; the sight they beheld causing the girl to gasp. “Oh! Charon… it’s…” Tears welled in her eyes as she took in her surroundings.

The room’s wood paneling was a freshly stained dark cherry, creating a deep contrast with the pale yellow and blue tones that decorated the room. A bed jutted out to the middle of the room from the right wall, a yellow comforter trimmed with blue lace adorned it. The headboard was also stained a deep cherry and had lovely hand carvings of roses. Next to it was a glass nightstand framed with black metal—undoubtedly fashioned in Charon’s smithy. Across from the bed, on the opposite wall, sat a small desk and next to it was a short, fat dresser with her brush set already placed atop it. On the far wall there was a wide window framed by a window seat and light blue curtains, under which sat her large bag of bird seed.

“…Beautiful!” her eyes were wide and glassy when she turned to Charon and wrapped her arms around him. “Thank you so much! I love it! You really shouldn’t have gone through all the trouble!”

“Nonsense, Ahiru. You live here now.” He scratched the back of his head slightly, “Granted, I’m not familiar with feminine touches, so I hope I didn’t make it too… masculine. I got some help from a nice lady when picking out the bed dressings.”

Ahiru beamed up at him, “It’s perfect! I could never in a million years even be able to pay you back for all your kindness.”

“Just be happy. That’s more than enough.”

Ahiru blinked, flabbergasted, before she blanched entirely. ‘Be happy… They’re… he’s expecting me to live here for a while… This isn’t fair to them, they went through all this trouble and I’m going to disappear in a year. No, he wants me to be happy, and I will!’ She forced herself to smile again before Charon could notice and stepped away to twirl in the center of the room. “This is way better than the room I had at the Academy! Thank you so much!”

Charon nodded. “You’re more than welcome.” He sighed, “I ought to finish cleaning up after dinner… I’ll leave you to get more comfortable.”

“Are you sure you don’t need any help?”

The blacksmith waved her off as he turned around, “Enjoy your gift. I’ve been washing dishes for nearly fifty years now; I think I’ll make do.”

The girl faced Fakir and stared at him for a second before starting, “Thank you, too, Fakir.”

He huffed, “Whatever.” He began leaving when Ahiru gripped his sleeve.

Her face colored in discomfiture, she had acted without thinking… again. “Er… Aren’t you going to… give me a tour?”

His eyebrows knit together as he studied her expression before shrugging, “Alright.” He pointed to the bed, “That’s your bed, you sleep in it.” He pointed to the opposite wall, “That’s your desk, and that’s your dresser. Your clothes are already in there.”

Ahiru frowned in annoyance, “Fakir, you know what I meant!”

His eyes gleamed mockingly, “There’s nothing to the room that you can’t see, Ahiru—I’m sure even a moron like you wouldn’t get lost in here.”

The small teen looked away from the taller, her eyebrows pressing together as she tried to bite back the feelings of rejection. Her embarrassment had increased with every word, and she couldn’t help but feel disappointed.

Sensing he might have taken his teasing a little too far he began, “I could… _hang out,_ though.” He let his shoulders rise and fall apathetically.

She turned her back to him, trying to hide her smile and crossed her arms. “If you’re sure you don’t have more important things to do than _waste_ your time with me.”

The writer rolled his eyes. “Stop being difficult, moron.”

Salmon locks fell over her shoulder as she looked back at him, her lips puckered slightly in mock hurt, “You’re cruel.”

It felt as though the wind was knocked out of him as he regarded Ahiru; the expression on her face could be described as nothing short of sultry. “U-uhm, well… what do you… want to—What do you want to talk about?”

She flashed him a toothy grin before flopping on her brand new bed. “I honestly haven’t thought that far ahead… Eh heh, but I figured that you’d have something to talk about—it’s not the first time I’ve been wrong, right? Oh! But maybe you do have something to talk about, I guess I never really gave you a chance to talk and… I’m… shutting up now…”

Fakir shook his head while he reached behind him and pulled the desk chair out. “Actually, I did want to talk to you about going to Kinkan Academy.” He threw his leg over the chair and sat down, resting his arms and chin across the chair back. “I haven’t picked up the paperwork yet, but we can do that tomorrow. Also, they expect you to take up—” he cut off when he caught her expression. “Ahiru?”

Ahiru clenched her fists in her laps, her mood suddenly becoming somber as her bangs fell in front of her eyes. “Fakir?” she paused to gather her thoughts. “I…I’ve been thinking and… and I don’t…. I don’t want to go back to Kinkan Academy.”

Time seemed to stand still as neither of them moved. Forest green eyes trained on the duck girl’s face for what felt like a decade before Fakir was able to form words. “I’m sorry?”

“I don’t want to go back to school…?” Her voice faded off pathetically.

“W-what? You… _don’t_ want to go back to school?”

The feather-like strands that stuck stubbornly up bobbed back and forth as she shook her head, “I just… I don’t want to go back.”

Fakir gaped at her incredulously, “Ahiru, you _love_ ballet—it’s practically your life. And now that you can perform again… You. Don’t. _Want._ To.?”

She avoided his gaze, “I just… I dunnu, I’m not that good at it anyway, right? I’m just not—” she tried to hide her cringe, “—interested anymore.”

Ahiru could feel his gaze penetrating her, it felt as if his eyes were burning into her soul and reading her every secret. Moments passed before he spoke again. “You expect me to believe that nothing is wrong when you’re refusing to study ballet? Just this morning you were dancing around in glee.”

She had to steel her nerves or he would never believe her… though she wasn’t sure it would really help. “So? I had a lot of time to think about it since you first brought it up. I’ve made my mind up.”

 His eyebrows knit together as he gawked at her, “What about Pique and Lilie?”

“What about them?!” Ahiru demanded, hurt that he had brought up the very reason she decided not to go back—like rubbing salt in a fresh wound, “It’s not like they remember me, right? I’m not letting anyone down with this decision.”

“Oh sure, no one but yourself!”

She glared at him then looked away; the more she looked at him, the harder it became to hold back her tears.

He stood abruptly, the chair he was sitting on fell to the floor with loud bang. “Why not? Why don’t you want to go back?!”

His demands were met with silence and eye avoidance.

“Damn it, Ahiru! How am I supposed to help you when you refuse to tell me what’s wrong?!” When she continued to evade his gaze, he grunted furiously before turning on his heel and stomping out of the room.

When the door slammed shut behind him, she allowed herself to look up. Once her watery, aqua eyes found the fallen chair, hot bitter tears fell over her cheeks, her barriers stripped bare of their defense.

_“You disgust me, Ahiru.”_

What had Charon asked of her? To be happy? And how wonderfully she was doing at that.

* * *

Drosselmeyer smirked as he viewed the spinning rustic gear, his eyes lighting up in satisfaction. “So what do you think, Uzura? Our story is coming along beautifully, don’t you agree?”

The small marionette frowned. “But Fakir and Ahiru aren’t being love-love, zura!”

A deep, thundering chuckle filled the emptiness around them, “Ah, ah, ah, my little apprentice! You mustn’t rush these things!”

The mint haired girl scowled before turning away and marching off while beating her drum angrily.

The author cackled as he turned his attention back to the turning apparatus with a satisfied sneer. “Dearest duck, you never fail to make my stories into true masterpieces.”


	4. Inadequacies

_Once upon a time there was a man whose love was so great, he considered his lover his most prized treasure. So ardently did he adore her that he strove to protect her from any and all perceived evils. In the end, was it really the world she needed protection from, or her lover himself?_

Stormy blue eyes stared at the hardwood floor as Ahiru loosened her grip on the wicker basket full of laundry. It had been raining since the night before and showed no signs of letting up any time soon. Unfortunately, the rain meant none of the laundry could be done, which ultimately took away any excuse she had to get out of the house—to escape the unsettling annoyance and frustration that rolled off of Fakir. So, dejectedly, Ahiru stood in front of the wooden door that separated her from the outside. Her pale face reflected on the large window, marred by the melancholy drops of rain that slid down her reflection like tears.

**“My little Ahiru, how the mighty have fallen!”**

“Drosselmeyer?!” the strangled gasp tore through her lips as her eyes jerked to find the deceased writer.

**“Troubled, are we? Things not going as planned?”**

“I refuse to let this become a tragedy!” the girl replied, letting the laundry basket fall from her grip. Laughter vibrated in the air surrounding her, sending shivers up her spine.

**“Silly little Ahiru, what did you think would happen when you signed your life away?”**

Ahiru frowned, “It won’t be a tragedy as long as Fakir and I are happy!” The ominous presence faded from the room as her own words rang mockingly in her mind. Her eyes fell to the dropped basket, trying to push the proclamation from her mind. ‘It’ll be fixed soon, I’m sure.’

“Ahiru?” a deep, aged voice called out to her from the hall, “What are you doing there?”

She blinked in surprise before turning around, “Oh! Charon! I was… er, going to do the laundry but… it’s raining.”

He smiled before walking over to her and leading her into the living room, “Come now, why don’t you take a break? I’m afraid that if you keep cleaning at the pace you are, the floors will be worn through.” With a curt nod he gestured for her to sit across from him, “Now what’s wrong? It’s obvious from the tension lately that you and Fakir had a fight.”

Ahiru sighed and fiddled with the hem of her skirt, “It’s that obvious?”

Charon’s face reflected slight incredulity. “I know Fakir can be difficult at times, but more than anything he’s worried about you. I won’t pretend that I know or understand what’s going on—nor do I expect you to tell me about it. All I know is that Fakir is happier when you two are bantering; we both know he won’t say sorry first,” he paused for a second before adding, “even though he probably started it.”

“You’re right,” Ahiru nodded. She breathed for a second before shaking her head, “It was my fault though, I should be saying sorry, anyway.” She glanced up at Charon before offering a weak smile, “Sorry for making things difficult.”

“Bah!” Charon waved his hand as if he were physically batting the idea away, “Don’t be ridiculous, I haven’t been so entertained in my life. Goodness, I was just worried that this argument was forestalling my grandchildren!”

The duck cocked her head to the side in question, “Grandchildren?”

With a gawky laugh, the blacksmith scratched the back of his head, not sure whether to be amused or disappointed that she didn’t understand his teasing. “Never mind that, I need to head to work for the day.” He stood, inclining his head politely, before rustling through the hall closet and pulling out a heavy coat, hat, and goulashes. “Fakir is in his room.” Charon added before saying his goodbye.

Ahiru bit her lip and glanced up the stairs; vaguely she could see a faint glow. ‘I should explain myself, he’s just worried about me. But what do I say?’ Ahiru made a cutesy face, ‘Fakir, I can’t go back to school ‘cause I made a deal with Drosselmeyer that’ll make me die in a year.’ She proceeded to make a face that she imagined to look like Fakir’s, ‘Idiot.’  She sighed, yeah, that’d go well. Regardless, she had to do something—she made this mess, and she wasn’t about to let Drosselmeyer win. Gathering up all of her courage she made her way up the stairs and to Fakir’s door. With a deep breath she clenched her eyes shut tightly and drew her fist firmly to the door.

A grunt was heard from behind the door along with the scrape of a chair on the floor, “Charon, I told you I will not apologize to her!”

So much for her courage. Ahiru worried her lip again and pressed her forefingers together. This would be an awkward conversation. After many seconds of silence she considered making a dash for it and hiding in her bedroom for the day; however, her plans never came to fruition when a door opened and interrupted her plotting.

“Charon would you dro—” Fakir stopped short when his eyes landed on Ahiru. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but quickly closed it.

The quiet soon became too crushing for Ahiru and she piped up, “I… er… Well…” she swallowed and began rocking on her feet, “…sorry…”

Fakir raised an eyebrow, before shaking his head and running his hand through his hair, “I don’t want an apology, Ahiru.”

Her cheeks puffed up as she glared at him, her remorse slowly boiling into anger, “Excuse me?! I came here to make amends, and you refuse to accept them?!”

“Hey!” Fakir shot back, “I’m not _refusing_ anything! All I want is an explanation as to why you don’t want to go to the Academy anymore!”

She huffed, “I just don’t, okay?!”

“You’re going to have to do better than that.”

“I don’t really see how it’s any of your business.” She folded her arms in front of her in annoyance.

“It _is_ my business!” He shouted, “God damn it, Ahiru! Why can’t you see that?! You always _have_ to do things on your own! Ever since you came back you’ve been acting like it’s no big deal, it _is_! We don’t know who brought you back; what their intentions are! I need to know _why_  you’re suddenly vehemently opposed to going to Kinkan Academy when not even ten hours before that you were dancing around in glee! No matter how many times I think it through, I get one answer: you’re not telling me something—how can I help you when you won’t talk to me?!”

Ahiru jerked back from him as if he had struck her, though his words had done quite well to that effect. Her eyes watered at the fair accusation as she clenched her fists, refusing to look at him. Despite the searing truth to his words Ahiru couldn’t seem to back down as she fought to keep her voice from cracking, “Why can’t you just be happy that I’m human again? Why do the ‘whys’ and ‘hows’ have to be so important to you? I’m a girl again, right?” She cursed herself as the tears began spilling over her cheeks; she hated being such a crybaby. “It could be worse: I could still be a miserable duck, with no friends, floating alone on that God forsaken lake!” Afraid of what he might say, she spun on her heel and fled.

“Ahiru!” she could distantly hear his calling after her, even though she was barely down the staircase. Her brain was too focused on her shortcomings: where had ‘not letting Drosselmeyer win’ go? She wasn’t sure where she was going, but her feet kept moving.

“Ahiru!” Fakir smacked his forehead, “Idiot,” he mumbled to himself before he leapt down the stairs two at a time. He wasn’t quick enough though, and met face to face with the mahogany front door. With a groan he debated chasing after her. He was doing a fine job of keeping her safe—that was for sure. He shook his head, and opened the entry. Already she was out of sight, and the rain from last night had calmed down a bit. A big part of him was worried she’d catch a cold—though, she more than likely needed some space. The writer sighed and closed the door again, she was always insisting that she could take care of herself. Right now he doubted his chasing after her would make things better. ‘I’ll apologize when she gets back…’

* * *

 

Ahiru wasn’t sure how long she ran before her legs began throbbing in protest, forcing her to slow down to a trot. She rubbed at her eyes, though they hardly needed it: somehow her fatigue stopped her tears for her. “Why do I always have to act so childish,” she complained under her breath, “Fakir’s always telling me to grow up, and I can’t even do that.”

Absently, the girl inspected her surroundings to see where she was. “Great, now I’m lost,” she mumbled in frustration, “Who’d think such a small town could change so much within two years?” It wasn’t unthinkable, though, she decided. After all, it was during those two years that Kinkan Town regained control of itself. Without much drive she wandered around, trying to find a familiar site. Perhaps ten minutes passed before she came upon a familiar area.

“Oh!” Ahiru gasped, “This is where that Oak Tree was…” In a slight reverie, she walked up to the tall rock she remembered Fakir crouching in front of. Not long ago Fakir had been embedded within the Oak’s magical cambium, slowly becoming one with the entity. Softly she ran the pads of her fingers along the smooth slate, tracing the crevices. She sighed and sunk to its base before resting her cheek on her knee. “I wonder what it had said to him…” In her exhaustion, blue globes drifted closed as she fingered through the blades of grass surrounding her.

“This is stupid,” she murmured after a while, “ _I’m_ stupid. Why do I keep on turning everything into a fight?”  Her fingers tugged at the small blade in her hand until it gave way, “What was I supposed to say though? I can’t tell him the real reason I don’t want to go, he’ll be furious.” Tiredly, her thick black lashes rose, letting her examine the thin plant. “What would Fakir say if I told him…that I’m going to die in one year?”

A flash caused her to look down at the white pendant around her neck, “Another one?” cornflower blue eyes glanced up as she looked around the clearing, “But there’s no one here…” Curiously she glanced over her shoulder at the rock, “Could it be…?”

Determinedly, Ahiru stood, her brow furrowed as she clutched the gem at her breast. Once again the familiar sequence began; her body was enveloped in a comforting warmth as her limbs moved of their own volition. Quickly, the warmth dripped from her as if it were liquid heat, leaving her standing en pointe amongst the pouring rain.

“Oak Tree,” she whispered as she gestured toward the rock to join her in dance, “what pains you so?” As she spun, a sprout launched itself from the ground, growing until its trunk was thick and its leaves touched the clouds.

“I am unneeded,” replied the Oak in its rich, dulcet tones. “I once gave guidance yet now I am forgotten.”

Princess Tutu closed her eyes as she went from battement développé to a graceful brisé, “You are not forgotten,” she murmured as she lightly caressed the bark, “if it were not for your help, the story would not have ended. You should be proud.”

“But if the story had not ended I would still be necessary,” the Oak cried.

“No,” the prima ballerina shook her head and folded her arms in bras croisé, “there are always those who wish to write beautiful stories, and though they may not be able to hear you, it is your powers that inspire them.”

“How can I inspire them if they do not hear me?”

“You are of legend,” the Princess replied, “it is the Great Oak that writers look for, search for. Without you, they would be lost. They need you. And one day, someone who can hear you will come: it is then that your voice will be needed.”

“I am needed?”

Princess Tutu nodded as she leaned toward the trunk, “Yes.”

An aura of relief seemed to seep from the tree, “I am needed. Without me writers would be lost. Thank you.”

With a slight shake of the head, she declined, “Not at all, I am—” she stopped as a flash of black light escaped from the slowly shrinking tree, nearly blinding her with its intensity, before it slammed into her pendant. With a pained cry, the ballerina fell to her knees as she tried to hold onto consciousness. Slowly, her vision blurred into blindness. Thunder was the last thing she heard before everything went black.

* * *

 

Charon kicked off his shoes at the front door and shook his hat and coat off before hanging them up. “It really started pouring out there,” he mumbled as he eyed the mess he made, “I ought to clean this up.”

“Finally! I thought—Charon?” Fakir came from inside the kitchen, his face showed slight surprise.

The blacksmith nodded. “Were you expecting someone else?” he smirked slyly, “Perhaps a smaller, prettier, more female someone.”

Fakir glowered at his adoptive father before returning to the kitchen. “She ran out in a huff.”

With a heavy sigh, Charon ran his hand through his hair as he went to retrieve some rags. After satisfied with his cleaning job, he sought out the wicker basket his new ward used for laundry. He quickly found it by the back door, where she had dropped it that morning.

“You had another fight,” it was a statement, not a question—a statement that made Fakir look at Charon as he entered the room.

“I guess,” Fakir relented as he drummed his fingers against the table.

“And she ran out of the house in her fury,” Charon continued. Fakir briefly flicked his glare up at the man before looking back at the wall, confirming his suspicions. He let out a loud breath as he sat and rested his forehead on his hand. “Fakir, I swear.”

The boy ignored his father as he continued to stare at the wood-paneled wall, his ears straining to hear the door creak open over Charon’s mutterings and his own fingers’ thrumming. He wasn’t sure how long ago she had run out of the house, but his nerves were on edge and dread hardened in the pit of his stomach with every passing minute. He was certain it had been at least two hours, most likely more.

“That boy’s not even listening,” Charon shook his head as he stood. “I’ll start on dinner.”

Fakir barely registered Charon’s announcement as he played with the idea of looking for Ahiru; he did, however, have enough sense to nod his head in the slightest. ‘Would she go to the pond? Or—’ his back straightened when his musings were interrupted by a loud clap of thunder. “Shit.”

Charon look back at Fakir. “Are you—”

Fakir stood abruptly. “I’m going to go get her,” he rushed to the closet and pulled out his coat. “That idiot.” As an afterthought, he grabbed Charon’s coat and tucked it into his arm. With his concern propelling him, he set into the rain with grim determination.

The pond had an almost otherworldly feel to it as raindrops danced on its surface. Fear gripped him as another series of lightning bolts lit the sky. Cupping his hands around his mouth he shouted, “Ahiru!” He looked frantically for any trace of her, discouraged when there was none to be found. He gripped the coat under his arm and ran back into the town, wondering where she could have run to. ‘Maybe… could she have gone back to the Academy?’ The thought seemed unlikely as she was thoroughly against the idea of re-enrolling, yet he had no other idea where she might have gone.

Cursing his current footwear as he barely maintained his balance as he slipped along the slick stones, Fakir slowed when he reached the courtyard of Kinkan Academy. With deft eyes he assessed the area, affirming that the fiery, poppy-haired girl wasn’t there. He clenched the coat in his arm as he regarded the window of the main practice room, ‘Could she…?’ There was nothing to lose from checking, he decided. It didn’t take long to make his way into the ballet wing but his effort was fruitless.

“Damn it! Where is she?!” He pinched the bridge of his nose as he glared out the window he was previously staring into. After taking a deep breath he sprinted from the vacant room and back to the courtyard. ‘It’s no use. I’ll have to search the town for her.’

The rain was getting heavier with every moment and lightning brightened the scenery every several minutes. Fakir growled in desperation before shouting again, “Ahiru! Where are you?!”

Another crack of thunder sounded as lightning flashed, giving a crumpled figure an illuminated appearance. “Ahiru!” Fakir skidded to a halt when he saw her lithe body collapsed in the flooded grass. His mind shot back to when he found her by the lake. A shaky gasp escaped his lips as he propped her shoulders up, “Ahiru, idiot, wake up!”

Black eyelashes feebly fluttered open, “Fakir…?”

The writer released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Idiot, why can’t you think before you do something?” Though his words were biting, the duck could decipher his relief as if he were screaming it.

“I’m sorry, Fakir.” She smiled slightly as she tried to sit up.

“Hey,” he stopped her, “careful.” With gentle but hurried motions he slipped Charon’s slightly wet coat over her arms and lifted her up. “We need to get you back to the house and warm you up.”

Ahiru allowed him to carry her, her body too enervated to really complain. A shiver racked her body when her brain began to comprehend how thoroughly soaked she was.

Feeling her slight frame shudder, Fakir held the girl closer, “What happened?”

Drowsily, blue pools blinked shut as Ahiru leaned her head in the crook of Fakir’s neck. “I fell asleep.”

“Idiot,” he responded, finding the action to be quite in character for her. ‘Can she really sleep through anything?’

She smiled, trying her best not to fall asleep for real. ‘The pain isn’t as bad as last time,’ she speculated, ‘I’m more exhausted than anything… I wish I knew what was going on.’

It wasn’t long before Fakir was opening their front door. Charon leaned out of the kitchen, “Ah, I’m so relieved you found her.”

“Sorry to worry you, Charon,” Ahiru apologized before she looked up at Fakir. “You can put me down now.” The boy frowned as he eased her to the ground. She stumbled a bit before steadying herself, pulling Charon’s coat tighter around her.

A grimace twisted her lips as another shiver shook her. Seeing this Charon fully came into the hall and gestured toward the stairs. “Maybe you should take a hot bath, Ahiru. Dinner will be ready when you get out.”

Ahiru nodded, “I suppose that would be best, wouldn’t it?” She hugged herself for warmth as she tottered up the stairs.

Fakir pressed his forehead against the back of his hand. “I think I’ll go dry off and change clothes.”

“Alright,” Charon dismissed him as he walked back into the kitchen, “but would you mop up the floor when you’re done?”

The younger male’s eye twitched slightly in annoyance as he consented before following Ahiru upstairs.

* * *

                                            

Ahiru sighed in contentment as she lowered her body into the steaming water, her face flushing with the heat, “This is so relaxing.” Her earlier woes seemed to melt from her person, but it wasn’t long before the pendant caught her eye. “It’s darker than before…” she whispered, fear tinting her tone. Hesitant fingers lifted the pendant so she could see it better. “Did I make the right choice?”

**“What’s this, little duck? Having some doubts?”**

Her face darkened in color at the prospect of having a male in the same room she was bathing in—Drosselmeyer, no less. Sinking further into the tub so that only her head and neck were visible she replied, “Only when you’re involved.”

Uproarious laughter filled the small bathroom, causing ripples to distort the surface of the bathwater. **“Wise choice, my dear.”** He appeared before her in full body, making the svelte girl slide further into her bath. **“However,”** he frowned, **“that just won’t do; we made a deal, you know.”**

Despite her discomfort and the overwhelming need to throw something at the man, Ahiru’s desperation for answers gave her confidence. “What is happening to the pendant? And why am I collecting heart shards again?!”

**“Heart shards?”** Drosselmeyer cocked his head, a grin present nonetheless, **“My girl! Who ever said anything about heart shards?”**

“Then what are those... those lights?”

The deceased author chuckled, **“Fragments, child.”**

“Fragments?” Ahiru clutched at the stone around her neck, “Fragments of what?”

**“Of what, you ask?”** One of the man’s hands slipped from its wrist, causing him to lean forward to catch it, a thoughtful pucker on his face during the while. **“Why, Ahiru, I would think it was obvious.”**

The girl glared at him for the masked insult. “If it’s so obvious, why don’t you share?”

He grinned at this, **“It is much more entertaining to see you struggle. What kind of story,”** Ahiru grimaced at the word, **“would this be if you knew everything?”**

“A better one,” she grumbled, again sinking further into the water.

Drosselmeyer smirked at this, **“You will know soon enough, little duck.”** In a blink, he was gone.

The girl scowled and looked back down at the pendant, “Oh, it’s white again.”

“Ahiru,” Fakir’s muffled voice came from the outside the door, “you didn’t fall asleep, did you?”

With a blush, she completely submerged her head before resurfacing, “No! I’m just washing my hair!”

“Idiot, don’t take so long,” he scoffed before adding in a softer tone, “I’m leaving a blanket outside the door. Come down to dinner when you’re done.”

“O-okay…” Ahiru’s eyes suddenly clouded as she listened to the retreating footsteps. “I shouldn’t be imposing on their lives,” she whispered as she lathered her hair, “All I’m doing is causing trouble. I’m not needed here…”

Suspended in the calm liquid, a gem shone a soft gray.

* * *

 

Fakir rolled his eyes as he sat at the kitchen table. That girl never failed to be late. He and Charon had already finished their meals and cleaned their dishes, yet Ahiru still hadn’t made an appearance. Charon had even retired for the evening, stating he had to go to work early in the morning. He pushed away from the table and stood up, “I better go check on her again. Knowing her, she probably managed to drown.”

“I’m done now, jerk.” Fakir turned around to regard the short female. Her skin was flushed a slight pink—most likely from the warmth of her bath—and her slight figure was wrapped loosely in the wool blanket he left for her.

“Oh.” He was almost mesmerized by how the light reflected off of her long, damp hair; he had only seen it out of its usual braid once before, the night he found her at the lake. At the time he was so panicked he didn’t even think to appreciate it. Waves of salmon that almost reached the floor seemed to cascade from her head like a waterfall. Shaking the thoughts from his head he began, “Your dinner is almost cold, you took so long.”

Ahiru stuck her tongue out at him, “I was really dirty, okay? I’d like to see you sleep on the ground during a thunderstorm and not get dirty.”

He shook his head and sat back down. “Just the fact that you can sleep outside during a thunderstorm and not wake up puts you on a whole different level.”

She huffed and plopped down in the chair opposite of Fakir; her plate of now cool food sat in front of her, “If you were on the opposite side of an argument against yourself, you’d understand.”

With his fore and middle fingers, Fakir massaged between his eyebrows. “That doesn’t even make sense, Ahiru.” He waited for her haughty reply, but got none. Upon peering up at her he witnessed her stuffing her mouth full with wild rice. He smiled and watched her eat for a moment, withholding his amusement as best he could.

“Charon ifh rewy goo tuh cuhing.” She grinned at him from across the table, chewing on her mouthful.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, moron.” Fakir admonished her, though his voice was softer than usual. Ahiru looked at him with curious eyes. Giving into his nervous habit of running his hand through his hair, Fakir sighed, “Look, I’m sorry… about earlier.”

Surprise splashed across her face, causing her to look down at her plate. She wasn’t exactly ready to start discussing her immature display from earlier or, for that matter, why they were fighting in the first place. “Er… you don’t have to be,” she finally said as she stood, “it wasn’t really your fault.” Self-consciously she picked up her plate and began washing it in the sink. She could feel Fakir’s anticipation for more of an explanation, but she didn’t supply one.

Eventually, uncomfortable with the energy in the room, she began, “You know, your bathroom is really nice. I mean, the one I used back at the Academy,” she inwardly flinched, instantly regretting mentioning the building but soldiering on regardless, “wasn’t nearly as nice, or big. And your tub is really comfortable! Like the one I had was so cramped, and I could hardly stretch my legs out! Though it makes sense you have a bigger bathtub, I guess, because you and Charon are so much taller than me… Hm, it must be nice to be tall. What if you got so tall that you had to bend down to get through doors? And—”

“Ahiru, you’re going to break that plate if you keep on scrubbing at it like that.” Fakir intervened, taking the plate from her and rinsing it.

“Oh… sorry.” She clutched at the edges of the blanket, drawing it closer to her body.

“This is why you’ve been banned from kitchen work,” he teased as he dried the plate and put it back in the cupboard. For some reason his words pulled at her heart and she looked down dejectedly. Seeing her downcast eyes, he panicked, “Hey, I’m just kidding. Don’t take it to heart.”

“I-I know,” she sniffed, “I just… I don’t know…”

“Uhm,” Fakir looked around uneasily, “maybe you should go to bed, it’s been a long day.”

Ahiru nodded in agreement but didn’t move. Hesitantly, she reached out from the warm embrace of the blanket and grasped his hand before heading upstairs, pulling him with her.

The knight’s face colored as he stared at their joint hands in embarrassment. He put up no resistance and followed the duck, his eyes once again falling to her poppy-colored locks.

‘What am I doing? Fakir doesn’t want me here.’ But for some reason, the idea of him not needing her was frightening. A gray glitter from inside the blanket startled her outside of her door.

Sensing a change in Ahiru’s demeanor, Fakir leaned over her shoulder, “Are you alright?”

Uncertainty consumed the girl, causing her to drop his hand. A second passed before she moved to her window seat, leaving Fakir patiently leaning against the door jamb. Slowly, after waiting for a few moments, he made his over until he was standing directly behind her.

“I saw Pique and Lilie,” Ahiru whispered after another moment of deliberation.

Fakir watched her reflection in the window, “What?”

She wrapped the blanket around her uncovered toes. “I saw Pique and Lilie.”

“When?”

“When I bought bird seed. They were in the town square.”

Fakir remained silent, sensing she wanted to say something else.

“They replaced me.”

“What?”

“There was this girl, Lory, and… they replaced me.”

He sat down next to her and tentatively rested his hand on her shoulder. “Idiot, if that’s what was wrong you should have said something.”

“I just… I don’t know,” she mumbled. Fakir watched her toy with the fraying hem of the slate-colored blanket.

Unsure of what to say or do, he began, “If you really don’t want to return to Kinkan Academy, I won’t make you.”

Ahiru took in a shuddering breath before launching herself into his arms, bewildering him, “I’m sorry, Fakir. It isn’t like I don’t want to dance any more… I just… I mean, it’s not like I wouldn’t like to know Lory or anything, right? But everything’s changed there and I—”

“Hey,” Fakir awkwardly patted her back, “you don’t have to explain everything, I understand.” He exhaled and looked out the window, “You could’ve told me.”

“Sorry—”

“Stop apologizing.”

“I didn’t know what to say, I guess.” She snuggled further into his chest, forcing him to resituate his back against the wall. Her fatigue was seeping back into her with a vengeance, pulling her eyelids down. Before she was all but drained of her energy she fumbled with the blanket, spreading it so that it covered both her and Fakir.

Fakir’s face reddened at their proximity and position. Flustered, his body tensed as she drew herself against him. About two minutes passed before he started, “Ahiru, you should go to bed.” When no reply came, he craned his neck to the side so he could better see her face. ‘She’s asleep.’ He smiled and let go of the tension in his muscles, letting his body relax.

Tenderly, he rested an arm around her shoulders as he leaned his head against the window. His intense gaze focused on the dark shingles tiling the roof, but his mind was on the petite girl in his arms. ‘God, this is a mess. How could I forget the possibility that her friends had found a replacement for her?! …Ahiru,’ his eyes wandered to her sleeping form before they darted back to the roof. ‘What can I do to help her? First Mythos and now her—am I really that helpless?’ He resisted the temptation to absent mindedly comb his fingers through her hair as he glanced up at the starry sky, ‘It can’t be Drosselmeyer, can it?’ Fakir mentally shook the idea from his head, ‘No, we put an end to that.’

Vaguely Fakir registered the grandfather clock in the living room ringing ten ’o’clock. ‘I should go now.’ He lightly shifted the slumbering duck in his arms, “Ahiru, come on, we should get you in bed.” Upon getting no response from her, he slipped his arm under her legs while ensuring he had a decent hold on her back. With a grunt, he lifted her off of him and settled her under the blankets.  As he pulled the yellow comforter to her chin, he was struck by how fragile she looked. With a frown he stood back, regarding her face critically. “I’ll figure this out, Ahiru, I promise. I won’t let you get hurt.” Being as quiet as he could, he left the room and closed the door.

His promise hung in the air.

* * *

 

“My, my! What is this?” Drosselmeyer’s voice reverberated with delight. Before him a rotating gear showed a young man with dark myrtle hair. With shining eyes, he watched as the boy sat down at his desk. “My progeny is trying to write a story!” He grinned, “And without the little duck’s permission as well!” His body quivered with laughter, “Foolish boy, you will learn quickly.”

 


	5. Flushed

_Once upon a time there was a young maiden. When the maiden was born, an oracle warned that if she were to fall in love, she would die. Alarmed by this, her parents locked her away and forbade any man to see her. Raised in this life of loneliness, the maiden took to singing songs of sorrow and heartache. One day, a young knight heard the despairing melodies of the maiden and came to her window. Enchanted by the beautiful, lugubrious maiden, the knight returned every evening in secret. Soon the maiden looked forward to his visits and began falling in love with him. In her desperation to be near him, she flung herself from her tall prison—ultimately falling to her death._

Sunlight flooded the plain room, shining across an unoccupied bed, worn oak floorboards, and hundreds of crumpled pieces of paper stained with black splotches. Slowly the beam crept further into the room, spilling across spilt ink and a well used desk. The brilliant light continued, finally embracing the crumpled figure at the desk. The young man twitched as the radiant warmth invaded his subconscious, forcing him awake from his restless slumber. Drowsily, his olive eyes opened as he began comprehending where he was.

“What time is it…?” Fakir muttered as he slowly sat up. His back and neck screamed, stiff from sleeping in such an awkward position. Trying to alleviate the pain, he stretched. ‘I must have fallen asleep writing.’ He looked down at the scattered papers in disdain, ‘Apparently with little success.’ His eyes widened as his mind shot to full alertness upon remembering last night. “Ahiru!” He panicked as he looked through the small pile of papers on his desk. The only legible one had been smeared by his cheek. ‘Damn it!’Glancing through the messy scrawl, he cursed himself; he should have known better! Writing at such a late hour, he was bound to lose control of his words! ‘Hopefully I didn’t do any harm.’

The wooden desk was in disarray: papers littered its surface and dried puddles of ink blemished its long ruined finish—the surrounding floors fared no better. Desperately, Fakir checked each piece of parchment as panic flushed his system. Surely he wasn’t foolish enough to further distort reality, even if he was in an unconscious state. At last he found the final rumpled piece; his fingers smoothed the creases as his eyes roved across his writing.

_“Once upon a time Ahiru”_

A sigh escaped his lips as he stared at the five crossed out words. The thumping in his chest was beginning to quiet as he ran his hand through his bangs. “Don’t be so stupid.” He stood and collected the marred sheets; he would have to burn them later. Setting them on his desk, Fakir regarded his ink-smudged skin. “I should clean up,” he decided aloud. With an ease achieved from years of ballet, Fakir retrieved clean clothing and a towel without making a noise. A soft smile curled his lips as his green orbs fell upon Ahiru’s room. Softly, he closed the bathroom door, a mute click being the only indication he had.

* * *

 

A warm embrace—cool fingers running through her silken locks. Ahiru sighed contently as she burrowed deeper into the welcoming hold.

_Tap. Tap tap._

The dream faded as quickly as it came. Ahiru cracked one eye open in annoyance, wondering who would dare disturb her peace. “Oh!” She sat up fully, a grin illuminating her features. “One moment!” she squealed as she toppled out of bed, her blankets entangling her limbs. She hastily pushed the cotton sheets from her body and stumbled towards the window. “Oh-oh! Uhm!” She stuck her tongue out in concentration as she fumbled with the bag of bird seed. “Forgive me for being so slow!” she apologized as she dipped a pewter dish into the sack, “I’m a little out of sorts, you see!” With clumsy fingers, Ahiru opened the window, letting a small bird in her room. Immediately after she had placed the dish on the window pane, the bird hopped into it. It was a small, rotund bird with a sort of black mask of feathers and brown wings.

“I don’t believe I’ve seen you before.” The bird cocked its head to the side as it listened. “I’m so glad you came!” Ahiru sat down beside the small bowl. Moments later another bird landed coolly on the feed, this one with a red crest and a slightly pink stomach. “Pleasure to meet you!” Ahiru beamed as she watched them eat. Soon the birds had selected their fill and hopped to the edge of the pane. The girl nodded her consent and bade them goodbye, “Bring your friends tomorrow!” It was a small start, but a start nonetheless. Slowly, her mornings where gaining a feeling of normalcy.

The duck-girl giggled as she stood up and eased the two glass panels together. Humming, she half skipped to her dresser and started to comb her hair. It was knotted more so than usual since she had gone to bed with wet hair. She made a face as she tugged at a particularly stubborn knot. “Ouch!” Finally, it relented to her pulling.

Satisfied with its smoothness, Ahiru braided the long strands, though her mind was elsewhere. ‘Was last night a dream…? It seems so unreal…’ When she finished, she puckered her lips and ran her fingers over the tresses, making sure they were neat. Once appeased, she grabbed a yellow shirt and blue skirt. ‘Then again, I don’t really remember going to bed. Fakir probably tucked me in.’ Her face flushed at this thought as she began frantically waving her hands, ‘Not that I’d want him to! Oh no, no, no!’ The girl buried her face in her hands and sunk to her knees, ‘Oh, dear.’ She laughed uneasily as she stood up and dusted off her skirt. “Don’t be so silly, Ahiru.” She reprimanded herself. “There is a lot of laundry to be done since you missed yesterday!” With a resolute nod, she picked up her sleepwear and headed downstairs to begin her daily chores.

“You’re finally up, I see.” The dark haired boy greeted her when she entered the kitchen, laundry basket firmly in her arms.

Ahiru blinked, as she regarded his figure crouched in front of the large Alsatian stove. Were those pieces of paper he was putting in the fire? “Where’s Charon?”

Fakir closed the small door and stood up, “He went to the smithy early. He said he had a large order come in last evening.” The girl nodded absently as she collected the old cloth from the counter. He looked back at the stove contemplatively, “Would you like to go to the library today?”

She faced him, readjusting her grip. “The library? I thought you didn’t like it when I bothered you at work.”

He groaned, “Do you want to, or not?”

Ahiru stuck her tongue out at his back before replying, “I do, thank you.” She repositioned her grip on the basket. “I just need to wash the laun _dree—AH_!” the duck girl flailed, as she tripped over herself midsentence.

“Ahiru!”

Clothes were strewn across the floor, the wicker basket lay on its side, yet Ahiru didn’t experience the usual rush of adrenaline she felt during her clumsy spells. She cracked an eye open, her face turning bright red when she realized why.

“Idiot, be more careful.”

The petite girl laughed uneasily as she slipped from his hold, “Ah ha ha, sorry, Fakir! You know me! I’m such a klutz.” She would swear she could feel the steam blowing out of her ears—if her face were any warmer, she’d probably catch on fire. Hurriedly, she began flinging the fallen clothing back into the basket.

Fakir sighed and knelt down to help her, “It’s easier to keep an eye on you this way.” He paused as he tossed one of Ahiru’s skirts into the hamper. “You don’t have to do the laundry every day, you know. Charon and I used to leave it undone for weeks before we bothered with it.”

Ahiru smiled, “But I’m not much good at anything else. I need to help somehow.”

“Just take one da—”

“I didn’t do it yesterday, either!”

“—one _more_ day off.”

Hesitation dripped from her body as she picked up the last sock. “I… guess.”

Fakir took the basket from her and handed her a croissant simultaneously. “I’ll put this in the closet. You eat breakfast and get ready to go.”

“Ah—Oh, okay,” she unthinkingly bit into the roll. Mindlessly, she nibbled on the flaky bread before Fakir returned.

He looked at her with an arched eyebrow, “Are you ready then?”

Big blue eyes peered up at him as she nodded, the croissant sticking out of her mouth.

With a ‘humph’ he turned around. “Idiot.” Ahiru smiled and followed him out the door, he could try to hide it all he wanted, but she saw the beginnings of a blush on his cheeks.

* * *

 

The door of the library opened with a slight creak, as per usual. This time, however, a gush of giggles and irritated growls flooded in with the bright sunlight. Autor knew those grunts of annoyance anywhere, ‘Fakir.’ The giggling, then, could only mean one thing.

“Oh, come on, Fakir!” Ahiru laughed, “You have to admit it was kind of funny.”

“I don’t find getting covered in the chicken feathers from the butcher’s shop particularly funny.”

“Aw, come on! You’re just angry ‘cause it was you instead of me for once.” Fakir grunted as she pulled another feather from his hair.

Autor stood, the light catching the lenses of his glasses as he did. “Fakir, I don’t believe I need to remind you of the rules here.”

Ahiru put a hand to her cheek in embarrassment, an awkward grin stretching her lips, “Sorry, Autor! That was my fault. See, Fakir and I were walking past the butcher shop when someone dropped a bag of the plucked feathers out of the window, spilling right out on to Fakir. It really was quite funny, and you should’ve seen his face! There were feathers everywhere and a lot of them were sticking to him. I guess a few got on me, but not as many as Fakir, and I tried to help cl—”

“Don’t be such a moron,” Fakir admonished, though it was clear from the bright blush painting his face, he just wanted her to stop recounting his earlier mishap.

“Actually, I’m somewhat glad to see you,” Autor interrupted the exchange, “I’m premiering at a night club tonight and, considering our conversation the other day, was thinking you’d like to come.”

The duck-girl’s mouth fell open slightly in realization that he was addressing her. “M-me? You’re inviting me to go?”

With a slight incline of his head, he validated her statement, “Of course. And, I suppose, Fakir is also welcome to come along as well.”

Clapping her hands together, she looked up at Fakir, “Oh, how exciting! I’ve never been to a night club before, Fakir. Let’s go!”

Fakir’s expression was clearly unamused. “A night club, Ahiru? I don’t even think you’re old enough to go to one.”

Ahiru pouted before turning her attention towards Autor, “I guess the _jerk_ has a point.” She made sure to put particular emphasis on the word jerk.

“Oh, that’s not the case at all,” Autor supplied. “It’s a classier joint, not one of ill repute Fakir seems to frequent.”

“Ill repute? _Hey!_ ” Fakir interjected before Ahiru cut him off.

“So they don’t have an age limit?”

Autor stopped to think at this. “I suppose they do,” his eyes seem to appraise her appearance, “I don’t think it’d be hard to make you look a little older—plus, I was told I could bring a guest.”

Ahiru clapped her hands together and looked at Fakir with shining eyes. She didn’t have to say a word for him to hear her pleading whines. He glanced at Autor with a raised eyebrow, not sure if he liked his sudden interest in the duck.

“Ahiru,” he began, intending to tell her no, but he stopped short. With a resigned sigh he started again, “Go ahead.”

She squealed in delight, jumping up and down in triumph. “Oh thankyouthankyouthankyou! It’s going to be so much fun!” She grabbed his bicep, “We can get all dressed up and drink fancy drinks and—”

“I’m not going, though.” Fakir interrupted.

“Eh?” She frowned in disappointment, “That’s no fun!”

Fakir sighed, “Charon wanted my help in the smithy tonight.” He mused momentarily before adding, “I think he’s trying to get me to start walking in his footsteps…”

“Oh…” Ahiru bit her lip and looked up at Autor, maybe she shouldn’t go. “I… guess if you can’t go…”

“Though I’d rather be able to keep an eye on you, you keep insisting you can take care of yourself. It’d be unfair to keep you locked inside simply because I’m busy.”

Ahiru grinned flung her arms around him excitedly, “Thank you!” Before he could even think about returning the hug she had already removed herself from his person and was babbling to Autor.

“You said it was a classy place, right? Should I wear a dress? Should I bring something? Does it cost money? What time should I be there—wait, where is it?!”

Autor silenced her easily, amused by her boisterous antics. “It is of the higher class, so I suggest wearing a dress—though, I would suggest maybe wearing your hair in a manner to mature your visage. There’s no need to bring anything, and as my guest you’ll be getting in for free. I’ll pick you up, say around… eight o’clock?”

Fakir regarded Autor distrustfully when Ahiru turned toward him. She seemed to be awaiting his approval. He huffed in annoyance, “I don’t see why you’re suddenly interested in getting my permission—you never have been before.”

This seemed to satisfy her as she turned back toward Autor, “Eight works great!” Her eyes then lit up, “Oh! That rhymed! I’m a poet and I didn’t know it!” She laughed heartily.

“No. Stop.” Fakir put his hand on her shoulder and started nudging her away. He glanced over his shoulder at Autor, “I take it you’re done now?”

Autor nodded wordlessly.

“Good then.” Fakir didn’t bother dismissing them as he led Ahiru to the section he wanted to browse.

It went considerably more smoothly than Autor had thought it would.

* * *

 

The day had gone by fairly uneventfully. Once Ahiru had gotten bored enough at the library to annoy Fakir into going home—she did feel a tad guilty for it, admittedly—she immediately went about getting the laundry done as she had intended to do when she had woken up that morning. Not long after, Charon returned home and started cooking dinner—the entirety of which Ahiru spent jittering with barely contained excitement. It didn’t take long for Charon to ask what had her so up in spirits. She was almost bubbling over as she relayed her evening plans to him, of which he responded to with great intrigue. While she spoke, the older gentleman kept shooting glances at his son. Finally Ahiru had finished eating and almost knocked her chair down when she excused herself to go bring in the laundry. Shortly after she all but tore up the stairs as she went to go get ready.

So Fakir found himself where he was now. Sitting in the living room reading a book he picked up at the library this afternoon while Charon sat across from him sipping on a coffee. It seemed to be long in coming when Charon put his mug down and regarded Fakir heavily. The younger male tried to ignore the stare until his father finally spoke.

“So Ahiru has a date tonight, huh.” It was a statement, not a question.

Fakir glanced up from his book, but returned to his reading without saying a word.

Charon nodded his head. “Huh. Well, I suppose it doesn’t surprise me a young man would be interested in her.”

“It’s not a date, Charon. It’s just Autor.”

“That’s the problem with young men these days, they’re too timid.” He shook his head in disapproval.

“Too tim—it’s _not_ a date, Charon.”

The blacksmith leaned forward, staring Fakir down. “So this doesn’t bother you at all?”

Fakir had to hesitate at that, it did, in fact, bother him. In fact, as soon as he had given her his consent to attend Autor’s premier, he immediately regretted it. Honestly, he had only given her his consent because he was trying to get out of the mentality that he was somehow in charge of her. Maybe this wasn’t the time to start…

Charon leaned back, taking Fakir’s silence as his answer. “It’s a damn right shame.”

“It’s not a date,” the younger repeated, less convincingly this time.

“If you’d tell her your feelings s—”

“Whoa, who said anything about feelings?!” Charon stared at him, disbelief clearly written across his face. Fakir ignored this.

Tiredly, Charon picked his mug back up. “Who do you think you’re fooling?” Fakir chose not to respond. “It’s certainly not doing you any favors. And now she’s going on a date with another guy.”

“It doesn’t matter if he thinks it’s a date—which it’s _not_ —she’s good at nothing if not deterring someone’s affections with her ignorance.”

The elder’s face softened at this, “Fakir…” He stopped at the sound of energetic footsteps tapping down the stairs. Shortly after Ahiru poked her face around the corner.

“Did Autor come yet? I lost track of time…” Ahiru admitted as she bashfully stepped into the room.

She practically _glowed_. Adorning her slight frame was a short, simple, white spaghetti-strap dress they had bought the day it was decided she would live with them. She had classed it up by tying a silk black ribbon around her middle, which also accented the gentle curve of her hips. Taking Autor’s advice, she wore her hair half down, pulling the top and some of the side sections into a simple yet attractive, if not a bit clumsy, coiffure. She even was wearing a small amount of make-up—of which Fakir had no idea where she had gotten, but had a nagging suspicion it had something to do with the shifty looking vendor at the undergarment store he had left her alone in.

A soft blush dusted her cheeks, only serving to enhance her overall appeal. “Does it look bad? I’ve never really done anything else with my hair before…”

“You look lovely,” Charon assured her. He sent a look at Fakir, not that it did much as the poor boy couldn’t tear his eyes from her. “Right, Fakir?”

Fakir looked at Charon in surprise before he stammered out, “R-right. Lovely.”

Charon rolled his eyes and stood up.

She frowned slightly, “That doesn’t sound very convincing, Fakir.” She twiddled nervously with the hem of her skirt as Charon shuffled past her, muttering a dismissal. “It doesn’t suit me, does it? I never had to dress up before…”

Feeling a bit more comfortable now that his father wasn’t breathing down his neck, he stood up, cleared the space between them in a few strides, and took Ahiru’s hands in his. She looked up at him, surprised to find him smiling. “You look gorgeous, Ahiru.”

Her face flushed when he leaned down slightly, looking into her eyes. Entirely embarrassed, she couldn’t help but look down.

“Don’t be so insecure, moron, it doesn’t suit you.”

Ahiru looked back up at him, and was rewarded with a prompt flick to her forehead. “Hey!”

He laughed, “Try not to make a fool of yourself.”

She shot him a petulant glare. “And here I thought some nice, young gentleman had come and replaced you!”

“A gentleman? Around you? Hardly.”

She screwed her face up at that remark, unsure of how to take it. Her mouth opened to retort, but was stopped by a crisp knock on the door.

Not even waiting to see her reaction, Fakir turned and took long strides toward the door, intent on staring Autor down. Charon, apparently, had beaten him to it.

“Is Ahiru here, sir?” Autor was wearing a black suit and a white tie, causing Fakir to wonder if he had known what Ahiru would be wearing. He quickly shook the thought from his head, knowing there was no way that would be possible.

Before Charon or Fakir could reply, Ahiru piped up, “Right here, Autor!” She peppily squeezed between her two housemates and out onto the doorstep. The pianist seemed more than pleased with her appearance.

“You look beautiful, tonight,” Autor asserted. She beamed and thanked him.

“When do you plan on having her home?” Charon interjected. He may not have been her father, but he certainly was beginning to feel like it—not to mention he didn’t want anything coming between his son and the cheery girl.

“I’ll have her back before midnight.”

Fakir’s eye twitched at this, and Charon was noticeably unimpressed with the time. This did not go unnoticed by Autor who explained, “I would have her back earlier, but the nature of my work prevents me from doing so, I hope you understand.”

Charon seemed pacified at this though Fakir stared Autor down. “No funny business.”

“Faki- _ir_!” Ahiru groaned, “Nothing is going to happen! I can take care of myself, _remember_?”

The writer sighed and gestured with his hand for them to leave. Ahiru grinned and waved goodbye before bouncing away alongside Autor.

They turned the corner before any words were exchanged. “I was unaware Charon had taken you in as a ward.”

Ahiru looked up in surprise. “Ward?” She thought on this. Was she Charon’s ward? “I don’t think it’s quite like that. I needed a place to stay and Charon was very kind to give me one.”

“You’re awfully young to be on your own.”

“I’m not on my own!” Ahiru asserted as they turned another corner. “I have Fakir and Charon!”

Autor had to laugh at this, she was a little on the clueless side, but it didn’t put him off as much as it usually would. Her pluck was actually refreshing compared with the stiff women he often had the displeasure of dealing with.

“They seemed awfully concerned about you for just being their live-in maid.”

She smiled toothily at him, “They’re just nice people! Though Fakir is a really good friend of mine, so I guess I’m not just their live-in maid. But Charon is really nice and took me in and gave me all of this stuff so I would feel comfortable, so—”

“You’re rambling,” Autor interjected. He didn’t mean for it to come off as an insult, rather a statement.

The girl’s cheeks puffed up in indignation, “You’re a lot like Fakir, you know.”

“Oh, I’m much better than he is,” the pianist supplied off-handedly. The corner of her mouth twitched and he decided it would be a good idea to for him to switch the subject before he started the night off on a completely sour note. “You mentioned you loved music before, but you never really told me what kind.”

“Any kind, really,” Ahiru bubbled. “As long as it conveys emotion. I love dancing, and what is a dance without good music? I mean, even when you dance and no music is playing out loud, you still have that song in your head that you’re keeping rhythm to!”

“You dance?” Autor raised an eyebrow at this.

She laughed, “Well, I try, anyway!” She laced her fingers together and stretched her arms out in front of her. “I’ve always loved ballet, but I’m not very good.”

“I would like to see you dance sometime, perhaps I could play for you.”

Ahiru dismissed the request immediately with insistent hand gestures, “I think you misunderstand. I’m not really one to try and be humble or something like that. I am very, _very_ bad.”

Autor cocked his head at her in disbelief, amazed she would say such things. He recovered rather quickly as he indicated to turn to the left with his hand. “Maybe my piano playing will inspire the grace you claim to lack. I am quite good, you know. Though I’m sure you’ll see that here shortly.”

The girl smiled to herself. It had been a while since she got to see Autor’s usual cocky self shine through, and despite how frustrating it had been in the past, it was strangely comforting to know he hadn’t changed so much. “What kind of music do you usually play?”

Autor flashed a smirk, which Ahiru took to mean he had been waiting for her to ask. “I like to combine my two passions, piano and literature. Though I have mastered the popular music, both current and classic, I prefer to play my own compositions.

“Every composition I have made is based off of notable fiction, using theme and general action curves to help convey the story’s greater meaning. Though I’ve composed based on works by various authors, my favorite is Herr Drosselmeyer. I’ve composed multiple pieces on his unfinished work, _Prinz und Rabe_ , alone.” He turned to her, seeming not to notice the color draining from her face. “Have you heard of Herr Drosselmeyer? His works are absolute masterpieces.”

Ahiru opened her mouth and closed it a few times, trying desperately to maintain her composure. “Drosselmeyer…” she finally said, “I suppose you could say… I am _familiar_ with him and his, uh, _work_.”

“You know, I am a distant descendant of Drosselmeyer. I haven’t quite finished my research showing where I am connected, but the man who helped my father when he was lost as a child has been connected and…”

Good naturedly, the girl nodded, though she could hardly stomach to pay attention to the words he was speaking. How could she have forgotten what a maniac he was for that nut job.

“Oh!” Autor interrupted his own babbling about Drosselmeyer and placed his hand on the small of Ahiru’s back, causing her to look up at him in surprise. “This is it.”

Ahiru looked to where he gestured with his left hand. A fashionable building framed by a small garden stood at the end of the street. A sign with simple lettering above the door read “ _Klavier.”_ A gentleman dressed in a sharp tuxedo stood at podium by the entryway. With slight pressure from the hand he had on her back, Autor led her to maître d’. The man looked up at them, quickly assessing them from top to bottom. With a curt nod he approved them.

Autor leaned closer to her as they walked through the door. “Since I’m supplying entertainment tonight and you’re my guest, I’ve secured a table near the piano for you to sit at. I will only be playing the first two hours, so I can join you afterward.”

A waiter walked by with a tray of glasses and looked expectantly at them. Autor quickly took a glass and handed it to Ahiru before the waiter continued on. She mindlessly accepted the glass and held the stem between her fingers as she took in the interior of the ritzy club. The floors were carpeted with a deep red and gold design, a beautiful wood and glass bar was across the room. The walls seemed to be made from the same, well-polished wood the tables were made of. From the ceiling hung an enormous chandelier which emitted a soft, glowing light. In the center of it all was an utterly gorgeous grand piano.

“Here.” Autor pulled out a chair for her.

“Oh! Uhm, uh… thanks!” Ahiru stuttered out as she sat down. She had never been to somewhere so classy before, she felt rather out of place as she drank in the atmosphere. A moment passed before Autor started to walk away. “Uh, good luck!” Ahiru spurted after him.

Autor looked back at her with a cocky lopsided grin. “Thanks, but I don’t need it.” He winked at her before turning around and heading off somewhere.

“What the heck was that about…?” Ahiru murmured as she admired the glass ornaments in the chandelier. Thoughtlessly, she bought the glass Autor had given her earlier to her lips and sipped the light rose-colored liquid.

“Eugh!” Ahiru sputtered as she struggled not to spit the bitter liquid out of her mouth. “People drink this?!” Resolutely, she forced herself to swallow before she set the drink down on the table.

Despite reminding herself multiple times not to drink the detestable concoction, somehow mindless boredom would get the better of her and a few more sips would manage to find their way into her mouth. By the time Autor had finally sat down to play, she was almost finished with the glass.

A sharply dressed man announced the entertainment for the night would be starting, introducing Autor by name before gesturing toward the piano respectfully and walking off. A small breadth of a moment passed before the first note rung out.

Faintly, Ahiru wondered if the song he was playing was one of the songs he had written or if he chose to open with one the popular songs he said he had mastered. She was familiar with classical music from her time studying ballet, but had missed a few years’ worth of modern music. She smiled as she let herself get carried away by the melody, hardly acknowledging the waiter who poured more liquid in her empty glass.

She couldn’t help but admire Autor’s skill. She may not know much about music—or as much as she should know—but she could tell he was really passionate in his playing. She watched as he would occasionally close his eyes, his body swaying with the beat.

Another thoughtless sip graced her lips, and Ahiru had to admit one glass in, the taste wasn’t so horrible. If she really ruminated on the taste it was kind of fruity… maybe even a bit floral. The song came to an end and another waiter offered her another glass. Ahiru pleasantly accepted, soaking in the first few notes of the next piece. Though she did not know the name of the song, she was very familiar with it as Neko-sensei had often chose the piece for their warmups. She hummed along as she took another sip. Her body felt comfortably warm and the music swam around her head.

With dreamy eyes, Ahiru looked around the room. It wasn’t bursting with people, but a little more than half of the tables were full. A boisterous woman in the far corner laughed as she animatedly told a story to the rest of her table, earning more laughs from her companions. Waiters dashed between tables keeping drinks full and delivering food when ordered. Two young gentleman a few tables over bent conspiratorially close together, occasionally shooting looks across the room at a table full of couples. Ahiru giggled happily when she watched as an older couple stood up to join some of the younger amorous couples in swaying to the music. The music Autor had chosen to play was light and jaunty, each song complimenting the previous ones.

Leaning her head on her knuckles, Ahiru took another sip, quietly wishing someone else was there to enjoy the music with her. ‘Fakir would like this song, I think.’ A new song had started playing, and Ahiru stared intently at her drink while she sloshed it around her glass. The melody had started out light and graceful. It filled Ahiru with familiar feelings she couldn’t quite place, but were rather nice. ‘How wonderfully pleasant.’ Ahiru mused, trailing a finger from her free hand along the rim of her now empty glass.

“Excuse me, Miss.”

Ahiru lazily turned her head up towards the voice. A young man, probably a few years older than Fakir, was standing before her. “Hmm?”

He smiled at her and inclined his head slightly. “I couldn’t help but notice you were here alone tonight.”

‘Alone?’ Ahiru’s mind struggled to work through the haze that had settled upon it. That didn’t sound right, she wasn’t here alone.

Not letting her confused silence deter him, the man continued, “A gorgeous lady such as yourself shouldn’t be alone.” He nodded as if agreeing with himself. “I don’t suppose you’d like to join me?”

“I’mmmmm noooottttt…” She hadn’t intended it, but her words came out almost like a purr, struggling to put together the meaning she wanted to convey.

“I can show you a good time,” he persisted, offering her his hand. “We can go dance. I’m pretty good on my feet.”

The only thought that she could seem to put together is that she regretted she didn’t have anything else to drink. “Ehhh…” She looked around sleepily, seeing if there were any waiters with those pretty bottles nearby.

“I won’t take no for an answer.”

“You’re going to have to.” Another voice came from behind her. Ahiru sluggishly looked over her shoulder, enjoying the light feeling that accompanied the movement.

“Otter.” Ahiru whispered before giggling.

Autor raised an eyebrow before looking stonily at the man currently propositioning the poppy-haired girl. “It seems you mistook my date for being alone here tonight. I can assure you she’ll find my company much more enjoyable than yours. Now move along.”

The man seemed to contemplate objecting to his assertion, but clearly gave it a second thought as Ahiru once again attempted to slur out Autor’s name while chuckling at each ridiculous result. He sneered in annoyance at the pianist before walking off muttering something intangible under his breath.

“Autorr…” she paused, seemingly pacified with this attempt, “You still playin’.”

Autor adjusted his glasses before sitting down in the chair next to her. “I finished my set about ten minutes ago.”

Ahiru frowned at him before looking back at the piano. “That’s not you.”

“Nope.”

She nodded, apparently accepting that answer. “Okay.”

“How…” he stopped a moment, wondering if he really wanted the answer that would follow his inevitable question. She looked up at him through heavy-lidded lashes as her lips parted ever so slightly. It was quite a bit more seductive than her normal carefree attitude. She was quite striking, despite her apparent inebriation. He sighed and looked at her with a hesitant smile. “How many glasses did you drink?”

“Huh?” She puckered her lips in thought before she began chewing on her bottom lip. “I dun… wow.” Her head flopped to the side when she moved her elbow. “Fourrerfive,” she slurred out. She held up her hand and tried to manipulate it to show how many times she emptied her glass. After failing to decide what the right number was she gave up, letting her hand fall back to the table. “I dun’ know.” She grinned widely and closed her eyes, losing herself in the floating sensation engulfing her.

Autor laughed sympathetically as he pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. He felt a little guilty for having given her the wine in the first place, but he also didn’t think she would drink it.

Her blue eyes opened back up, a dreamy look softening her features. The pink flush splashing her cheeks was endearing.

“You’re quite beautiful, you know.”

“Yer boooiful.” Ahiru shot back at him with a giggle.

He chuckled. Part of him wasn’t sure why he was so charmed by her—air-headed ditzes weren’t his type at all. But sitting here with her, the soft glow of the chandelier highlighting her curls, the reds of the club contrasting against her brilliant blue eyes, the hazy smile curling her lips, Liszt playing in the background… there was definitely something about her that was simply enamoring.

She grinned when a waiter walked by tapping her empty glass expectantly. The waiter made to put more in, but was stopped by Autor. “She’ll have a water, please.” He ignored the angry pout she shot at him. As an afterthought he quickly added, “And can we get a couple _brötchen_?” The waiter nodded before heading back to place his order.

“I had din—” she stopped mid-word, having forgotten what she was going to say. “Mm, y’ hungry?

“I think you should eat some bread before we head back. You’ll regret it in the morning if you don’t.”

“Hummmm,” she sang quietly as she nudged the glass around between her hands. “Tha one song. I liked i’.”

“You mean that I played?”

“Yeah. Like thi’.” She slurred through the melody to the best of her recollection. “Like tha’.”

Autor smiled, chuffed that despite her drunkenness, she was able to pick out the one song he played that was his original. “So you noticed it. You know, that was one of the first songs I wrote of my composition. I originally wrote it as a practice as I found the character I based it off of did not resonate with me very well. However, I ended up pretty satisfied with the result and lately the character has become increasingly interesting to me.” He paused to thank the waiter and pushed the rolls to Ahiru, encouraging her to eat them both. She dumbly picked one up and nibbled at it.

“You said you were familiar with Herr Drosselmeyer, yes? The song was based on the work I mentioned on the way here—”

Ahiru’s eyes widened at the mention of Drosselmeyer, causing her to choke on the bread in her mouth. She spewed a few crumbs onto her hand before trying to force it down with some water.

Autor placed a hand on her back, “You alright?” His voice held more sympathy in it than she had ever thought Autor capable of.

Ahiru nodded, chugging what she could of the water before blinking at him. She honestly had no recollection of what had caused her to choke. “’m fine.” She tiredly dropped her head down on the nearest surface.

Autor stiffened at the sudden weight from her head on his shoulder, but found it wasn’t unpleasant. At this new proximity he found she smelled rather nice, though he couldn’t place the scent.

“Don’ tell Fakirrr.” She mumbled sleepily.

Autor couldn’t help the little smirk that played across his lips. “Tell Fakir what?” That the cute girl Fakir had clearly fallen for was currently snuggled up to him?

“Don’ tell him ‘bout Droooeesssssll—Drues… Drossss.”

That, he hadn’t been expecting. His smirk fell. “Drosselmeyer?” It was clear she was starting to fall into nonsensical drunken babbling.

She sighed. “He can’ know. Don’ wan’ him be…” her mutters dropped off into incoherent slurs.

“Ah, shit.” He cursed as it dawned on him he still had to get her home, and it wasn’t exactly the shortest of walks. “Hey,” he nudged her.

“Lemme sleep, Fakir.”

“It’s Autor,” he reminded her, trying not to be too annoyed. He had, after all, given her the drink to begin with and left her unattended. He signaled to a nearby waiter, “Would you satisfy my tab from the pay for my performance.” The waiter nodded his understanding, took the dishes in front of them, and left after shooting Autor and his potentially passed out guest a suggestive look.

“Come on.” He urged, gently pulling Ahiru up.

“Whoa.” She gripped onto Autor as her brain tried to catch up with the sudden waking and movement.

He readjusted her position so she was more naturally posed for walking. “You alright?”

Ahiru nodded into his side. “Yeah…”

Autor would have a hell of a time explaining this to Fakir.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Liszt song that Autor was referencing is _Liebestraum_.


	6. Elicit Memories

_Once upon a time, there was a lonely woman. Every day this woman would search for love, and every day the woman would return brokenhearted. Eventually the woman died as alone as she had lived. Could it truly have been that she was unloved, or did she secretly believe she didn’t deserve to be loved?_

Fakir stared, miffed, at the pair on his doorstep. Autor had promised before midnight, and perhaps it was before midnight, but just barely. He took one look at the way Ahiru giggled and clung to Autor and felt the strong compulsion to punch the other male.

Autor returned Fakir’s stare with as much fervor as he gently shouldered the slap-happy Ahiru toward the green-haired man.

“Fakiiir!” She screeched much too loudly for the hour.

Fakir chose to ignore her as he untangled her hold from the pianist. “I take it you had a good time.” He ground out.

“Fakkiiirrrr~” the girl sang out again, letting go of Autor and stumbling into Fakir’s side. She laughed as she supported herself on him. “Le’s dansss, Fakkiiirrrrr. Otter sai’ nooo.”

His eyes widened in realization and he snapped his head back to Autor. “Is she _drunk_?!” He was furious.

“It seems she has a taste for wine.” Autor stated matter-of-factly.

The urge to knock the teeth of out the cocky bastard’s head grew. “What the hell, Autor!? How did this even happen!”

Autor at least had the social grace to look sorry. “I… apologize. I wasn’t able to keep an eye on her while performing. I should have informed the waiters not to give her too much. I… didn’t think she’d like it, to be honest.”

Fakir’s fist clenched, but a very inebriated Ahiru clung tightly into his side, cooing girlishly and effectively distracting him.

“I should go,” Autor relented. “I made sure she ate something and had some water. I will check back up on her tomorrow.”

“Don’t bother,” Fakir glared pointedly. Autor clearly ignored him.

“Thank you for your company, Ahiru.”

“Byyeeeee Aut’r!” Ahiru mewled from Fakir’s side. She tried to give him a hug goodbye, but Fakir’s arm held her tightly to him. She frowned, confused why she wasn’t able to move her body the way she wanted, and settled on waving. “Le’ss piano ‘gain!”

Fakir inadvertently tightened his grip in irritation.

“Ouch!” Ahiru whined as she tried to wiggle out of his grasp.

“Sorry…” Fakir murmured and quickly loosened his grip, but not enough that she could slip away from him. “Did anything bad happen?”

Ahiru leaned heavily into him and shook her head. “Nooo. He played piano niiccee.” She looked up at him, her mouth and part of her nose hidden in the bunched up cloth of his shirt. “Lotsa juice, thoo.” She giggled blearily and buried her face in his clothes.

Fakir sighed and carefully picked her up, not trusting her to be able to make it to her room.

“Woooo!” she snickered loudly, moving her arms to tightly grip his shoulders and nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck. “Y’ smell good.”

His face flushed, a strong waft of alcohol the only thing stopping him from focusing solely on her proximity, or the way he could feel her breath on his skin, or how her lips brushed against his collarbone as she spoke. He gulped, “H-how much did you drink, Ahiru?”

“Many.”

“I noticed,” Fakir lamented as he carried her up the stairs. He was not going to think about how perfectly she fit in his arms. Nor was he going to think about how delightfully warm she was. And he was definitely not going to think about how soft her lips were and how they were still brushing his collar bone whenever she spoke or just breathed or anything of that nature.

He clumsily opened the door, causing Ahiru to give a weary attempt at a giggle. Carefully setting her down on her bed, Fakir exhaled in relief. “Can you get yourself dressed?”

“Mm-mm,” she dissented while snuggling into her bed. “You can, if you wan’,” she drawled.

If his face was red before, it was much redder now. “Idiot! I’m not—” he stopped short, noticing the evenness of her breaths. She was asleep.

He sighed, his body visibly releasing tension. He kneeled down on the floor next to her bed and rested his head on his forearms. Even the ravishes of drunkenness couldn’t destroy her beauty. Her salmon-colored locks twisted elegantly around her face, her long black eyelashes brushed her flushed and freckle-dusted cheeks, her rosy lips barely parted as she breathed. The pearlescent stone rested above her heart. Unthinkingly, he brushed some of the unrulier strands of hair out of her face.

He would never admit it, but he had been worried about her; dark emotions twisted deep in his gut every second she was gone. Emotions he wasn’t sure he would ever be ready to admit he had. Fakir didn’t know when she got ahold of him so tightly, but he was certain he never wanted to go back to before. He let his fingers graze her cheek, his whole body freezing when it caused her to stir.

“I missed you, Fakir…” she murmured in her sleep. Moments passed before he let his body relax, certain she was, in fact, asleep.

He watched her a moment longer before pulling a blanket over her. He silently rose to his feet and went to the door. Fakir allowed himself to check one last time to make sure she was comfortably situated before quietly pulling it closed.

“I missed you, too.”

* * *

 

It was way too bright and that pounding was way too loud. Ahiru was almost certain that whoever was making that noise had absolutely no manners about them at all. _In the least_. Wearily, she cracked one eye open to try and find the source of the noise.

Birds.

She couldn’t muster up the energy to be too excited, but she had enough sense to know if she wanted the noise to stop she had better give them what they came for.

Wow, her head hurt.

Ahiru groaned and opened the window, shielding her eyes while cautiously pushing the bird seed dish forward.

Maybe it was a blessing only a few birds had made this part of their morning routine as of yet.

“I’m not feeling too well,” Ahiru mumbled to the birds, too afraid of the bright light of the sun to risk actually seeing if any birds were paying her any mind.

She noted mutely she was definitely wearing the same dress she wore last night. Leaving the birds to themselves, Ahiru retreated to a darker corner of her room as she tiredly removed the ribbon from around her waist. With great difficultly, Ahiru began pulling at the coiffure she put her hair up in, fighting with some tenacious snarls that were the result both from her clumsy attempts at putting it up and sleeping in it. While struggling with taking her hair out, she tried to recollect what had happened last night to no avail. She remembered going out, some light music, and that was it. She gave up trying to recall anything, and on her hair as well. She managed to get all of it down, but there was no way she was going to even attempt to brush it now.

She moaned again and clutched her stomach. She did not feel well at all. Her stomach gurgled angrily, causing her to blanche as she made a beeline for the bathroom.

Ahiru clenched her eyes shut, tears gathering in the corners as she wretched the contents of her stomach into the toilet. Feeling slightly better, she sunk to her knees while flushing.

A moment passed before a knock sounded at the door. She didn’t have the strength to answer.

“Ahiru? Can I come in?”

She moaned her assent.

The door cracked open and Fakir tentatively poked his head in. Seeing she was decent, Fakir opened the door the rest of the way and offered her a glass of water. “Drink this.”

Ahiru groaned, but forced herself to take the glass from him. The water tasted sickly sweet after throwing up, but she drank it anyway.

Fakir knelt down next to her. “Feel better?”

She pursed her lips before handing the cup back. “A little bit…”

“You should probably eat.”

Her stomach trembled at the thought; she would’ve shaken her head vehemently but that idea made her head ache. “No.”

He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “What were you thinking, drinking all that wine?”

“Wine?” She tried to think back to the night before. Autor had given her a glass of some awful tasting drink. “Was that wine?”

“Honestly, Ahiru. Surely even _you_ know you have to drink alcohol in moderation!”

She whimpered pathetically when her stomach flopped, readying herself to have to empty more of whatever was in her stomach. Nothing came. She waited a moment before resting her arms and head upon the seat. Did she know? Sure, she had heard of wine, but she didn’t know what wine was, objectively speaking. Being a duck for most of her life didn’t really teach her drink etiquette.

After she didn’t respond Fakir stood up. “You should probably take a bath, it’ll help.” Ahiru accepted the towel he offered her moments later. “I’ll make you something for after, hopefully then you’ll be able to stomach it.”

He closed the door softly behind him, prompting Ahiru to groggily push herself off the floor. She figured Fakir probably knew better than she did and drew a hot bath.

It took her longer than usual to get undressed, and she was notably more careless with her laundry, just dropping it unceremoniously on the floor. Once the tub was adequately filled and Ahiru was satisfied with the temperature, she let herself sink into the hot water. The warmth was relaxing, enough so she almost fell back asleep. An accidental slip too far into the water woke her right back up, coughing and sputtering.

Ahiru let her mind wander back to the night before. The night played back in her mind in a series of short, disconnected episodes with a great deal of unknown connecting pieces. She remembered going out with Autor, and him giving her a glass of that awful drink—of which she will never drink again, thank you very much—eating some bread, and falling out of Autor’s arms when she tried to show him how to do an arabesque on the way home. With a scowl, Ahiru started working her fingers through the knots in her hair while they floated under water. She wondered if she should be thankful she couldn’t remember everything she said and did while drunk. It was probably saving her a great deal of embarrassment.

She paused when she heard a scuffle downstairs. Was that Autor? Ahiru winced as she pulled free another knot. No, probably just the echoes of last night playing in her mind, trying to remind her of all the stupid things she did. She sighed and grabbed the washcloth hanging over the side of the tub. Time to scrub away the dirt and bad memories.

* * *

 

Ahiru sighed as she stepped out of the draining bath and wrapped herself in a towel. Fakir had been right, she wasn’t one hundred percent, but she certainly felt tons better. She lazily picked up her dirty clothes and padded back to her room as discreetly as possible. Shutting the door behind her, Ahiru winced at the bright light shining through her open window. With a groan she pulled the bird seed dish back inside and closed the window.

“Never again,” she muttered as she tiredly rubbed her body dry with the towel.

It took some serious will power, but Ahiru was eventually able to get herself dressed. Her hair was beyond her patience at the moment, so she wrapped the towel around her hair and propped it atop her head.

At least her stomach had stopped flip-flopping. She gingerly crept out of her room, afraid of the effects noises had on her head. The smell of bacon wafted up the stairs. Breakfast actually sounded really good right now.

“You feel better?” Fakir turned to her when she entered the kitchen.

Ahiru nodded, thankful he spoke softly. “Yeah,” she murmured, “my head still hurts, though.”

Fakir put a plate of bacon, eggs, and toast in front of her as she sat down. “A hangover will do that.”

She ate with much less vigor than she usually did. Fakir exhaled sympathetically as he set a glass of water near her. “Do you remember anything from last night?”

“Not really,” she admitted. “Bits and pieces. Mostly me being an idiot.” She pouted as she drank some water. “What’s that?” She nodded to the bouquet of red roses and white lilies sitting on the kitchen counter.

Fakir groused. “Autor dropped them off.”

“Today?”

“While you were in the bath. He wanted to wait, but I told him to get lost.” Fakir paused, hoping the duck wouldn’t be cross with him.

Ahiru didn’t acknowledge his admission and looked at the roses curiously. “They’re gorgeous.” She regarded them for a second before continuing. “They remind me of Rue and Mythos. They’re not very much like me at all, are they?”

Fakir didn’t quite know how to respond to her. He eventually laughed and shook his head, “No, not really.”

“What did Autor leave them here for?”

Fakir would’ve choked had he been eating something. “You’re kidding, right?” He knew she was dense, but surely she should have figured it out on her own, right? He almost felt bad for Autor. _Almost._

Ahiru groaned as her hair wrap tumbled to the side and set her fork down impatiently. “Ugghh! My stupid hair won’t just do what I want it to!” She frowned and glared at the towel laying on the ground.

Fakir picked up her empty plate and started washing it in the sink. If she didn’t want to press the Autor subject, he wasn’t going to. “Have you combed it?”

“Have I combed it?!” Ahiru repeated back, her voice a slightly higher pitch than normal. She grumbled under her breath and leaned her head on the table. “I tried.” Her voice was full of emotion.

‘Great,’ Fakir thought, ‘She’s moody when recovering. Dually noted.’

“Fakiiiiiiir.” She was whining.

Fakir didn’t know if he liked where this was going.

“ _Fakkiiiiiiirrrrr_ ,” she tried again.

“What?”

“Comb my hair for me.”

“No.”

* * *

 

Ahiru hummed happily as she sat between Fakir’s legs, her hair splayed out across his legs, the bed, and the floor.

“Hey, don’t move so much. This knot is particularly bad, and you’re making it harder.” Fakir complained as he worked a wide tooth comb into a knot.

“Oops, sorry!” Ahiru apologized and straightened her back in response, trying her best to stay rigid and still. A moment passed before she slowly started relaxing her muscles back into a slouch.

“How did it get this bad?”

Ahiru shrugged. “It’s not like anyone ever taught me how to take care of my hair.”

“But you do… _brush_ it every day, right?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know how to do anything other than braid. And I slept with it already tangled up, and I’m sure the bath didn’t help.”

Fakir sighed. “Have you considered getting a haircut?”

She glared at him.

“Alright, then.”

Ahiru began toying with the strands Fakir had given her to hold after he had finished detangling them. “Have you ever had alcohol?”

Fakir handed another chunk of tangle-free hair. “Yeah.”

“Really?!” She turned to look at him, earning several aggravated shouts in response. “Sorry!” She immediately turned back around. “Did you get drunk?”

He started reorganizing the hair Ahiru had managed to get mixed up. “A few times.”

“What happened?” Ahiru asked, wondering if her experience was the norm.

“I was upset, so I thought it was a good idea to drink.” He gently nudged through another snarl. “Drinking is… well, it certainly doesn’t help. It makes you act stupid. So, I stopped.”

“Why were you upset?”

He wasn’t about to admit he was nursing a broken heart after she had gone back to being a duck. “Just life.”

Ahiru rested an empathetic hand on his foot. “Yeah,” she murmured softly. Thankfully, she let the subject drop and began humming a new tune.

Fakir was able to make quick work of a few more tangles, enjoying the tranquility of the moment. Ahiru seemed have had a fast recovery from her hangover, and the tune she was humming was rather pleasant.

A giggle from the doorway interrupted the peace, causing Fakir to stiffen before whipping his head toward the sound.

“Aw, look at you! I didn’t know you had such a soft side, Fakir!”

Leaning against the jamb was a young woman with long, brown hair which was tied back, a teasing smile upon her lips, and a knit mauve shawl hanging from her arms.

“Raetzel!”

She laughed again, “It’s been a while, Fakir! And who might you be?” Raetzel sweetly directed her question to the girl sitting on the floor.

“Ahiru.” The duck couldn’t help the blush spreading across her cheeks, though she wasn’t sure why she was embarrassed.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ahiru.”

“Why are you here, Raetzel?” Fakir made to stand up, but she put out a hand to stop him.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt. No one answered when I knocked and the door was unlocked… I can wait downstairs.”

“I-uh—no! We’re—I’m pretty much done. I’ll… I’ll go make, uhm, tea.” Fakir disengaged himself from Ahiru’s hair and hurried past the unannounced guest.

The older woman sighed, “Oh dear, I didn’t want to embarrass him.” She looked back at the girl blushing on the ground. “He didn’t even finish your hair, did he? If you’d like, I can do your hair.”

“Uhmm… I guess, if you don’t mind?”

Raetzel beamed softly as she approached the girl and carefully adjusted her long locks in her lap. She tenderly began combing out the remaining snarls. “So, Ahiru, was it?”

“Mm-hm.” Ahiru confirmed with a small nod.

“You have such long, pretty hair! I’m jealous!” Raetzel skillfully smoothed out the last knot while she giggled. “I’ve never seen Fakir be so caring! You must be someone special!”

Before Ahiru could respond, the brunette started dividing Ahiru’s hair, “You have so much hair! Please let me put it up for you!”

“Okay!” the salmon-haired girl quickly agreed. She had never had someone else do her hair—unless you counted Fakir combing her hair just now. With perfect posture, Ahiru sat raptly, focusing on the feeling of Raetzel’s fingers weaving through her hair. Only a few moments passed before Raetzel took a few pins from the brush platter beside her and pushed them into Ahiru’s hair.

“All done!” Raetzel leaned forward with a hand mirror to show Ahiru her work.

Ahiru couldn’t see all of it, but from the side angles it looked like Raetzel had French braided side pieces into a low-lying bun, from under which a fish tail braid cascaded. “Wow! It’s amazing!” Ahiru grinned up at her hair stylist. “You’re amazing! I can’t do anything like this!”

Raetzel smirked conspiratorially. “I got a lot of practice when I was younger. Don’t tell Fakir I told you, but I used to braid his hair all the time.”

Ahiru looked up at her in amazement. “Really?” She tired her best to imagine Fakir with extravagantly braided hair, but couldn’t seem to reconcile the image with the one she had in her head of him. “I’d love to see that!”

“Remember, don’t tell him I told you!” Raetzel repeated and stood up. She offered the younger girl her hand. “Speaking of Fakir, we better go downstairs, or he’ll get suspicious of what we’re talking about.”

Jumping to her feet, Ahiru gladly took the lead. It was nice to see Raetzel again, she hardly got to speak with her last time she was in Kinkan town. She was dying to ask about her husband and how married life was going, but, in a surprising display of forethought, realized Raetzel didn’t remember her from before.

“Great timing,” Fakir called over his shoulder as they entered the kitchen. “The tea is just about done.” When he turned towards them, his eyes paused on Ahiru’s hair. He narrowed his eyes stonily and shot a glance at Raetzel—who, if she had noticed, did not acknowledge that she had.

“I don’t suppose you have lemon on hand, do you? I’ve grown a taste for lemon in my tea.”

Fakir shrugged, “I can check.”

After confirming Charon did have some lemons on hand, he sliced one up and served it on a small plate alongside her tea.

“You never said why you came to visit.” Fakir voiced as he sat down.

Raetzel dropped a lemon wedge in her tea and offered one to Ahiru. “I didn’t realize I needed a reason to come visit.”

“I didn’t mean you weren’t welcome.”

She chuckled. “I was feeling listless. Hans makes enough money for us to live comfortably, so there’s been no need for me to work. It can get unbearably boring, though. And I’ve been missing you and Charon, so…” she shrugged.

Fakir smiled, “Well you’re always welcome here.”

Raetzel looked down at her tea, swirling it around her cup. She hesitated before adding, “And I wanted to… apologize. I don’t remember much about my last visit—I don’t think I was in my right mind—but I think I asked you to write a story… that was cruel of me.”

Fakir waved her off, “Long forgotten. Honestly, I’ve actually started writing again since then, possibly even because of it.”

She looked impressed. “Really? Anything I can read?”

“I’ve been working on some short stories, but nothing I’m ready to divulge.”

“You’ve really grown a lot.” She paused and looked over at Ahiru, who was trying to press a lemon seed out of the wedge she had already submerged. “I’m sorry, Ahiru! You must be confused! I grew up around here with Fakir. I always saw myself as a mother figure to him.”

“Hm? I kno—I mean—”

Fakir interrupted, “I’ve told her about you Raetzel. Though, I would’ve said more of an older sister… Enough about the past, though. How’s Hans?”

“Oh! Hans is well. Like I said, he makes good money, but he works an awful lot, so I don’t see him much.” She stopped before sitting up straighter. “I don’t mean to say he’s a bad husband. He’s actually very thoughtful. He loves surprising me and always makes sure to spend at least one evening a week at home with me. I’m happy.”

“I’m glad.” Fakir took a sip of his tea.

Raetzel changed the subject and gestured at the counter behind Fakir. “Those are lovely flowers, Fakir. What’s the occasion?”

“What? I didn’t—”

“Fakir! Have you—” Charon stopped in the kitchen doorway. “Raetzel!”

“Charon.” She stood as she greeted him.

“What a surprise, I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Speaking of surprises, you didn’t tell me Fakir got engaged! And to such a lovely young lady! You should have written me.”

It took a moment of Ahiru’s gawking at Raetzel’s hand which was gesturing towards her to fully comprehend what was being said. At the same time Charon let out a boom laugh, Ahiru nearly screeched, “Quack!” With wide, horrified eyes, she clapped her hands over her mouth.

The older pair turned towards the younger, but before they could say anything Fakir was already pushing Ahiru past them murmuring some excuse.

To Fakir it felt like time had slowed as he ushered Ahiru to her room. He had to hurry before she turned back into a duck, or he would have a lot of questions to answer. When he slammed the door to her room behind him, he finally let go of the breath he didn’t know he was holding. Ahiru stared at him, clearly frazzled.

She didn’t turn into a duck.

“Ahiru?”

“Yeah?”

Didn’t she normally turn into a duck right after quacking?

“You’re… you.”

“Uhm.. yeah.”

Fakir wasn’t sure what this meant. “How?”

“I’m… not sure?” Ahiru looked up at him with her wide, blue eyes.

Fakir cleared the space between them in a couple strides. “Quack again.”

Ahiru pursed her lips. “Fakir…”

“Do it again.”

She sighed wearily, but did as he asked. “Q-quack.”

Once again she didn’t change.

“You don’t change back into a duck… at all?”

“I guess? I mean, it seems that way.” She had to admit she was surprised she didn’t change back, but she did remember Drosselmeyer mentioning that she wouldn’t turn back anymore.

Fakir sat down on her bed and thoughtfully pressed his finger to his chin. He stood back up a moment later. “Can you… take that necklace off?”

Ahiru froze. Could she? She glanced down at the pendant and rested her hand atop it. It hadn’t even occurred to her to even try taking the pendant off. Hesitantly, she reached behind her head. She wasn’t sure why she was suddenly overcome by a sense of impending doom, or why her hands were shaking so much, but it took a few tries for her to get a decent grip on the cord.

As soon as cord was just above the intricate bun Raetzel had woven into her hair and the stone dangling just above her chest, a shooting pain consumed her body. A scream twisted its way out of her throat as she began falling to her knees.

Fakir lurched forward and was able to catch her before she made impact. Gingerly, he eased her to the floor and encircled her in his arms. He could feel her heaving breathes as she attempted to calm down; her hands were still tightly curled around the string of her necklace. It took some effort for Fakir to get her to release her hold, but she seemed to relax almost immediately after.

When she finally calmed down enough, she pulled back from Fakir’s embrace. “Fakir… I don’t think I can take it off.”

Fakir nodded. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to try again, but the thought of putting her through more pain was a strong deterrent. He pinched the bridge of his nose. So, she won’t change back to a duck, but she can’t take the pendant off at all? Part of him wondered what would happen if it was ripped off, despite her pain. The writer quashed this line of thought when a heavy pit of fear began growing in his gut.

Ahiru, however, shared this thought process. With determined eyes, she requested, “You try to take it off.”

“Ahiru…”

She shook her head, not budging on her decision. “We should at least test what we can test, right? We know it hurts when I try to take it off, but what if someone else does? Maybe it’s similar to when I couldn’t get the pendant off in the lake of despair.”

Fakir nodded again. He didn’t want to cause her pain, but she was speaking logically—not exactly something she was known for. “Okay, but the moment it hurts, stop me okay?”

Ahiru clenched her eyes shut. “Don’t tell me when you’re going to do it, just do it.”

Anxiety flooded Fakir’s stomach as he reached out for the simple black string around Ahiru’s neck. She looked utterly terrified; he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her trembling jaw. He exhaled, closed his eyes, and steeled his resolve. With a sharp motion, he yanked the cord upwards. There was no resistance, it moved exactly how one would expect it to. He barely got it over her head before she shrieked in excruciating pain, causing him to instantly drop it back around her neck as if he were burned.

“Ahiru?!”

She gasped and pressed her hand to her chest. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t stand it, it-it’s…”

“What’s going on up here?!” Charon’s voice was filled with panic as pounded at the door. “Ahiru?!” Charon opened the door with more force than he probably intended. Raetzel peered over his shoulder, concern painting her features.

Despite her recent pain, Ahiru began flailing, trying to come up with any believable excuse. “I-I—I uh…”

Fakir attempted to help “Ahiru—”

“—stubbed my toe!” Ahiru wailed. She quickly untucked one of her legs and enveloped her foot in her hand. The toes were red from the awkward angle she had sat upon them, lending some credibility to her story.

“And the first scream?”

“I…” Ahiru blushed and tucked her chin into her chest, focusing on her “hurt” toes. “I stubbed them… twice…” she trailed off, hoping her embarrassment for her lame excuse would be taken for embarrassment of her total clumsiness.

Charon sighed in relief as Raetzel rushed forward, “Oh you poor thing!” She knelt in front of Ahiru and examined her foot. “It doesn’t look like you did any major damage or broke any skin. Thank goodness.”

“I’m used to your squawks,” Charon laughed, “but you must’ve stubbed them something fierce if you screamed like that.” He clearly sounded baffled, if not a tad incredulous.

“S-sorry…” Ahiru bit her lip.

Raetzel stood up, “Fakir, why don’t you put Ahiru on the bed and I’ll go get a cold compress.”

Fakir, still shaken by Ahiru’s display of pain, didn’t argue. He scooped Ahiru into his arms and set her on the bed.

Raetzel returned not long after, a cold, damp towel in her hands. She sat on the edge of the bed alongside Ahiru and tenderly set the towel under the duck’s toes.

“Oh, you don’t have to go through all this trouble!” Ahiru insisted.

“Nonsense!” Raetzel dismissed. “It must’ve hurt pretty bad.” With a ginger touch, she probed each toe, double checking if anything was broken.

Ahiru yelped in surprise at the action.

“Was it this one that you stubbed?” The older woman withdrew her hand.

“U-uh, yeah…” Ahiru glanced over at Fakir before looking back at Raetzel and adding with more fervor, “But it really isn’t that bad! You don’t have to worry, I was just surprised!”

Charon scratched his head, not used to feeling so useless. “It looks like you have this covered Raetzel. I’ll go start on some dough. Since we have company, I ought to make something special for dinner, right?”

Raetzel giggled, “If you insist!”

“Fakir,” Charon gestured toward the door with his head, “I’ll need you to run out and get some groceries for dinner.”

Fakir looked like he wanted to protest, but ultimately did not. “Alright.” He looked at Ahiru and gave her shoulder a quick squeeze. She could see in his eyes he was formulating how long he could spend in the library researching before Charon was suspicious he wasn’t just picking up ingredients for dinner. Without another word, he followed Charon out the door.

With a smile, Raetzel tended Ahiru’s “injured” foot, wrapping the cold cloth around it to ease any supposed pain. “They sure do care a lot about you.”

“Huh?”

The older woman looked up from the younger’s foot, “Fakir and Charon. They’re not exactly the most personable pair of men in the world.” She laughed. “But I can see why. You’re so cute!”

Ahiru’s face flushed red and she looked at her hands. “I—uh…”

“It doesn’t seem like it’s as tender anymore.” The brunette patted the cold towel along Ahiru’s extremities.

“Oh, heh, I’m pretty tough! I was just uh… just surprised! I was surprised after the uh first time and it already uhm hurt so…”

Raetzel gave her foot one last pat and leaned back on her arm, twisting her body to face Ahiru better. “I’m sorry for my misconception earlier. Charon explained to me that he took you in as a ward.”

“Huh?”

“You seemed so flustered when I said you and Fakir were engaged, after Charon told me everything I felt a bit bad.” Raetzel leaned in conspiratorially. “Though if you ask me, Fakir is _awfully_ fond of you.”

Ahiru’s face deepened in redness. “N-no way! Fakir’s just really nice that’s all and he wouldn’t possibly like a total klutz like me! That’s just—nope, nope.” She squirmed and laughed uncomfortably, waving her hand in the air as if she could physically dismiss the idea.

Raetzel chuckled and let the topic drop. “I’m going downstairs to see if Charon needs any help. Would you like me to assist you down the stairs?”

“Mmm, no thank you. I need to take care of a few things,” Ahiru mused. “Plus, I’m sure I can walk on my own. I’ll be down in a little bit. Thanks for taking care of my foot.”

The older woman stood with a nod. “You’re welcome. Just holler if you need anything, okay?”

Ahiru flopped back on the bed once Raetzel had left, placing a hand above her aching heart. She exhaled heavily and closed her eyes, listening to the soft creak of the stairs as Raetzel descended them.

She felt emotionally drained and almost hollow. A dull thud—probably her heartbeat, she decided—shook her chest. Tendrils of pain ghosted along her body. The utter agony she had experienced was indescribable, nothing like she’s ever been through before—and she had been through a lot.

Why was she such a mess? She was so useless, so unnecessary. She was making everyone worry about her, and then lying to them about it. It just kept getting worse. What use was this year, after all?

And it was all _her_ fault. “Rue,” Ahiru hissed, her lips twisting in a snarl. Her eyes darkened. If only Rue hadn’t stolen Mythos, then none of this would’ve happened. She could’ve had her happy ending and never made the stupid deal with Drosselmeyer if only—

Ahiru gasped and clutched at her heart. “Where did that come from?” She shook her head, trying to rid the foreign thoughts from it. She attempted a halfhearted laugh, “Of course it’s not Rue’s fault. Why would I even think that? I wouldn’t even be happy with Mythos.” Rolling her head to the side, Ahiru groaned. She felt like crying, she felt like screaming, she felt like laughing, she felt like she could just punch the next thing that mildly inconvenienced her. Ahiru felt hopelessly jumbled, and all it did in the end was make her feel even more anxious.

It took quite a few moments for Ahiru to gather herself back together. Maybe even more than an hour had passed—she wasn’t quite sure. She stretched as she sat up, inhaling with renewed determination. She didn’t know what game Drosselmeyer was playing, but she wasn’t going to let him win. Maybe she’d die in a year, but that doesn’t mean she’ll lose.

She tossed the now lukewarm towel into the basket she kept her dirty laundry in and padded down the hallway. Soft voices drifted up from the kitchen, causing Ahiru to pause. She crept down a few stairs and peered through the bannisters.

All she could see was part of Raetzel’s back, but she could hear both her and Charon. Ahiru smiled at Charon’s booming guffaws that filled the air along with Raetzel’s ringing chuckles.

“Really?!” She could hear Raetzel cry out in amused disbelief. “He didn’t!”

“Oh, but he did!”

“Fakir hasn’t changed a bit!”

Ahiru settled herself on to the stairs, listening to the two reminiscing, a smile playing on her lips.

“I remember when he was running around town, pretending to be a knight. Always so serious about his duties.” Charon’s voice was filled with fondness.

“Remember that one time, he tried to protect that flower from getting squashed? He cried so hard when he woke up and it had been ripped out of the cobblestone!”

“And you were always there to comfort him.”

Raetzel tittered back, “Well someone had to be his mother. He was always getting into trouble!”

“That he was. Half the time I didn’t know where he disappeared off to.”

“I remember when he and…” Raetzel faded off, the laughter slowly dying out. Her voice became heavier. “Charon, I have to admit… it doesn’t feel right, does it?”

Confusion flooded Charon’s voice, “What do you mean?”

Ahiru leaned in closer, concerned by the sudden change in tone.

“There’s something missing, don’t you feel it too? Something… important. Someone?” A pause. “I feel like someone else was supposed to be there, in these memories.

“I… do.” Charon confessed. “I hadn’t thought about it before, but I feel like something is missing. I don’t know how to describe it.”

A flash just outside of Ahiru’s periphery caught her eye. She looked down at the gleaming gem hanging from her neck. “A sha—fragment?” Eyes wide, she glanced back up at Raetzel’s back. “It couldn’t be! Both of them?!” With a frantic check around the area, Ahiru quietly dashed up the stairs, just out of sight, before letting the familiar warmth carry her away.

* * *

 

Raetzel and Charon sat solemnly in the kitchen, the laughter long gone from their throats. Suddenly, everything felt wrong. Memories that were cherished were tainted and ruined; something or someone that was very important was supposed to be in those memories.

Charon started when a white figured appeared in the entryway. Gracefully standing en pointe, her face carrying a comforting look, stood a ballerina. Sensing the change in Charon’s demeanor, Raetzel turned to look behind her.

“No, it couldn’t be…” she murmured as the ballerina smiled at her. “Princess Tutu?” She wanted to look back at Charon for confirmation, but couldn’t tear her eyes away. “Like from your stories?”

Charon couldn’t bring himself to make a single sound.

“Yes.” Princess Tutu confirmed as approached. “Your hearts are burdened with incomplete memories.” She performed her trademark invitation with ease. “Please, come dance with me.”

Without a single sound, the blacksmith rose from his chair and reached for the prima ballerina’s hand. Raetzel followed suit. It was as if kitchen melted from existence when their hands touched Princess Tutu’s. Her movements were mesmerizing and compelled them to mimic her movements to the best of their abilities.

“Though our memories are significant, they can easily be manipulated,” Princess Tutu spoke soothingly as she led the two through a pirouette.

“It feels like what is missing is so important, like it as such a big part of our lives.” Raetzel lamented.

The two of them knelt, each providing a hand to the ballerina as she stood arabesque. Charon agreed, “I feel as though there is a hole now.”

“Lost memories can hurt us a great deal, but we must learn to let go of what we cannot remember.” She prompted them to rise with a gentle tug. “Sometimes we forget because we need to.”

“But it so unfair.” Raetzel cried as Princess Tutu assisted her in a dip. “Why should we forget?”

“It is unfair, but cannot be helped. Cherish what you can remember, but do not let forgotten memories detract from what is around you now. Hold on to experiences that bring you joy, and understand that the parts that are gone, are probably gone for a reason. Nothing that brings you pain is worthwhile.”

Charon and Raetzel performed fouetté to the best of their abilities around the ballerina. “It’s okay to have forgotten something like this?” Charon asked.

“Yes,” Princess Tutu confirmed, “You wouldn’t have forgotten if it was truly important for you to remember.”

“You’re right.” They agreed, bowing to their dance partner and bringing their pas de trois to an end. “If we were meant to remember, we would.”

The prima ballerina returned their bow with a smile. Both groaned in pain as the dark lights departed from their hearts, causing them to collapse back into their chairs, unconscious. Princess Tutu staggered backwards with a shattered gasp as both were absorbed into her pendant. Her vision became blurry as her transformation wavered before completely falling.

“I… can’t…” Ahiru wheezed as she stumbled towards the stairs. “Fakir can’t… find me…” Unsteadily, she climbed the stairs, her chest aching with the effort. By the time she reached the top stair she was crawling along the floor. She just barely made it near her bed before passing out, welcoming the familiar darkness.

* * *

 

Fakir let out a low chuckle as he picked Ahiru up off the ground. “Idiot fell out of her bed.” After setting her atop her covers, he brushed a few strands of hair out of her face. He could hear Charon and Raetzel laughing downstairs as they fought over who should cook their meal. He smiled. “Don’t sleep too long, moron. You’ll miss dinner.”

Not wanting to linger, he turned away and headed down to help cook. Unbeknownst to him, the pendant around the little duck’s neck shone gray.

 


	7. Satiated Nostalgia

_Once upon a time, there was a man who was enamored with romance. He loved love so much, he freely gave up on being himself. “If only I could find love, then it does not matter who I am!” To his great dismay, his many trysts ended in heartbreak. It wasn’t until after he gave up on love altogether that he found it, but was love from another the love he really wanted?_

Ahiru sat cross legged on her bed, watching the birds eat the seed she had put out for them, while fidgeting with the pendant around her neck. She was pleased a larger flock of birds was starting to show up daily.

It had been a little over a month since Raetzel had come and gone. Her visit was brief, but enjoyable. Raetzel had even given Ahiru some lessons in doing her own hair. Admittedly, Ahiru wasn’t _much_ better than she was before, but she _was_ better. That being said, she decided to just maintain her usual hairstyle.

The month had passed quite peacefully. Fakir had been unusually nice to her, which she suspected had something to do with their little experiment in trying to take off her necklace. She should reprimand him for acting like she was fragile, but Ahiru had to admit she needed the time to nurse her inner turmoil.

Sometimes she felt physically sick when she thought about the weight in her chest. She felt moody at times, like she wasn’t entirely in control. However, she was impressed with her ability to push it all to the side. Despite her discomfort, she felt like things were going alright. She was having the happy year she promised she would have.

“Hey.” Fakir’s voice shook her from her reverie. He was leaning against her door jamb with his arms crossed. “Do you want to go out today?”

Ahiru blinked and dropped the pendant. “You mean to the library?”

Fakir looked away, his cheeks flushing red, “I mean… we can. But I was thinking more like…” He paused and tried desperately to look anywhere but at her. “Wecouldgetlunchorsomething.” He mumbled.

“You want to go to a restaurant?”

“Don’t read into it, idiot!” He huffed. “I was thinking you could probably use some time out of the house.”

Ahiru grinned. “I’d like that.” She stood with a stretch. “When do you want to go?”

“I was thinking more towards noon. I know you hate having your morning routine interrupted.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “I do not!” She paused before adding, “It doesn’t bother me that much!”

Fakir raised an eyebrow at her, but didn’t say anything.

Ahiru sent a sideways glare at him. “Fine. I’ll go start cleaning now.” She collected her basket of dirty laundry and brushed past the writer with a sassy ‘hmph!’.

There was rarely much laundry to do since Ahiru did it so often, but she found Charon’s clothes, which were often sooty from the smithy, usually gave her a bit of work. After collecting the laundry from both men’s rooms, she headed to the back with her washboard.

After filling her tub with water, Ahiru began her daily duty. The repetitive motion was relaxing and allowed her mind to wander. Somedays she’d fall into fantasies of Charon and Fakir praising her superior laundry abilities. ‘How did we ever get along without you?’ they’d fawn. Other times she’d make up silly, ill-plotted ballets with romantic subplots and happy endings. Today, she felt reminiscent. The tub water reminded her of the lake somehow.

‘It wasn’t so bad,’ Ahiru thought. ‘Being a duck. I never had to worry about much, there was plenty of yummy fish and pondweed to eat. There weren’t many other ducks around, so I never had to fight to eat...’

She hung the pair of pants she was working on and started scrubbing at a white shirt. ‘There really weren’t many other ducks, were there?’ She mused. ‘Was it because of some remnants of Drosselmeyer’s story? Maybe animals are more sensitive to that kind of magic, I mean I wasn’t the only animal that turned human… or humanesque.’

Ahiru stopped scrubbing to rinse the shirt. ‘You know, I don’t think any of the few ducks I did run in to understood me… or was it I didn’t understand them…?’

She ignored the creeping sense of loneliness and, satisfied with her work, hung the shirt to dry. ‘Did I ever even have a conversation with another duck?’

Without looking at the next article of clothing she picked from her basket, she submerged it in her scrubbing tub. ‘Surely… I had friends before all this right? Do ducks have friends?’

The blue-eyed girl couldn’t bring herself to move her arms anymore. ‘Didn’t I have siblings? Most ducks have more than one duckling at a time… What about my parents? Did I know my parents?’

She thought back to when Charon had asked her about her parents. She had realized then she didn’t have any clue about her history, but suddenly she felt an aching chasm where a family was supposed to be.

Her body felt heavy as she tried to recall anything from her past, from her life before Mythos. ‘I—I had a family, right?’ Nothing was coming to her mind, not even a feeling as though a memory was just within grasp. She desperately tried to remember any little detail: what her parents looked like, what they sounded like, any inkling of a brother or a sister. ‘I didn’t just pop into existence…’

A horrible thought entered her mind, unbidden. _Did_ she pop into existence? Could Drosselmeyer have written her into existence along with his story? Was her only reason for existence to be a tragic heroine?

Ahiru’s vision began to tunnel and she could swear malicious laughter was rolling in the distance.

* * *

 

Fakir looked at the clock on the wall. Ahiru was taking longer than usual with the laundry. He couldn’t help but sigh. Who knew what was slowing her down this time. He drummed his fingers impatiently on the table. Normally he would use the free time to work on his writing or at least focus on his research. Yet, for some reason, he couldn’t keep his mind trained on any one thing.

The minute hand clicked forward a fraction.

The knight couldn’t take another second of waiting, and it wasn’t even time to go to lunch. Not that he was excited to go to lunch. Not with _her_ anyway. He was just wistful and had a case of the wandering mind.

‘God,’ he mentally reprimanded himself, ‘that moron is rubbing off on me.’

The minute hand clicked forward another fraction.

Fakir stood up. “I better check on her… make sure she didn’t drown in the wash basin.”

Ahiru didn’t drown, but she certainly wasn’t acting normal. She was kneeling in front of the wash tub, her back straight and stiff. Her arms hung limply in the water as she stared, transfixed, into space.

“Ahiru?”

She didn’t respond.

Fakir frowned and cautiously approached her. “Ahiru?” He repeated a little louder. When she didn’t respond again, he rested his hand on her shoulder.

Ahiru jolted, “Huh?! What?!” She flailed around a bit before her large, blue eyes focused on Fakir’s face. “Oh, Fakir!” She laughed in embarrassment and scratched her head.

Fakir arched an eyebrow. “You okay?”

“Yeah!” She answered, maybe a little too quickly. “Why wouldn’t I be?” She added a second later, for good measure.

He eyed the pile of laundry. Though already small, she had only washed a few pieces so far. With a deep sigh he sat across from her and put his hand out. “Here, I’ll rinse, you scrub.”

The girl’s lips curled into a soft smile and she rung the dirty, soapy water out of the drenched laundry and handed them to him.

Fakir thanked her and started to lower the clothing into the water when his mind processed a faint glimmer he had seen near her chest. His stomach dropped.

Was her pendant gray?

His eyes shot back to the gem in question, which sparkled white in the sunlight. He squinted. Were his eyes playing tricks on him?

“Fakir?” He noticed Ahiru was staring at him questioningly.

Averting his eyes, he waved her off. “Thought I saw something. It was nothing.” Fakir mentally stocked the potential information away in his mind. Maybe it really was nothing—but maybe it was something important.

* * *

 

Between the two of them, they were able to make quick work of the few remaining articles of clothing. Fakir managed to talk Ahiru out of washing the floors, after insisting she’d wash through the floorboards at the rate she was going. It was a tad earlier than they wanted, but they decided they were both sufficiently hungry to go get lunch.

“Where are we going?” Ahiru asked for the fifth time.

“I told you, a popular restaurant near the forest.”

“ _Yeah_ ,” she drawled, “but what’s it _called_?”

Fakir ignored her and kept walking along the path.

“Faki-ir!” she whined.

He pointed further down the path. “Look, we’re almost there.”

Ahiru turned her attention to the path. The area actually seemed fairly familiar. A building nestled amongst the trees came into view. That looked familiar, too. Despite being before the lunch rush, there were already quite a few outdoor tables filled. A wooden sign hung along a wooden gate that read ‘ _geöffnet,_ ’ announcing to the world the business was open.

“Wait…” Ahiru squinted her eyes. This clearing in the forest. This pathway. This restaurant. It was all very familiar. “… is this…?”

As they drew closer she gasped. “Ebine?” Her head whipped to look at Fakir. “How did you know about this restaurant!?”

The knight smiled, pleased with himself. “I had a feeling.”

Ahiru stopped walking alongside him and gave him an unimpressed look. “Really.”

He shrugged and continued walking, forcing her to follow suit. “I remember finding Mythos here one day with Rue. It was one of the first times he mentioned Princess Tutu to me. Back then, I didn’t know who Princess Tutu was and focused on finding you, completely forgetting about the restaurant.”

Ahiru thanked him quietly when he opened the wooden gate for her. “Recently, Charon got an order from here, which reminded me of the whole occasion. After connecting the dots that weren’t there at the time, I thought you might like to come back.”

She grinned widely at him and turned her attention to the restaurant. It had changed quite a bit, actually. The wooden porch had been extended to allow more outside diners, and it looked like an addition was added to the building. The roof was still a warm reddish-brown and the restaurant’s name still had its original script above the door crowned with a grape vine motif.

“It’s gotten quite popular so the owner has had to expand and hire another chef and some more waiters.”

She smiled to herself as they entered the building, glad to see Ebine had improved her cooking and saw her and her husband’s restaurant become successful again.

The namesake of the restaurant herself stood behind the hostess stand and greeted them. Her hair was still up in her signature bouffant, but a few gray hairs were peppered throughout. Her features had aged a little, and she had gained some weight, but she still looked as exuberant as ever. “Hello, and welcome to Ebine! I’m the owner, and head chef, Ebine!” She pulled out two menus and beamed at them. “Would you like an indoor seat, or an outdoor seat?”

“Uhh…” the overflowing enthusiasm was just as overwhelming to Ahiru now as it was then.

Luckily Fakir was unfazed. “Indoor will be fine.”

“Oh excellent!” She turned to lead them to their table. “So how did you find my little restaurant? Did a friend tell you?”

“Something like that,” Fakir replied.

Ebine stopped beside a table next to a window. “Will this do?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“Ah, yeah, thank you!” Ahiru added as she sat in her chair.

“Wonderful! I’ll be back with some water while you look at your menus!” She handed both of them a menu and bustled off.

Ahiru looked around. The interior had been updated a bit, but it still held its homey appeal. She hummed happily and looked at the menu. After skimming it briefly she realized she was entirely out of her element. Sure, she knew general foods and was learning more based on the meals Charon made, but most of the words meant nothing to her. At least there were headings. She deliberated for just a moment before deciding fish sounded best and settled on a meal with rainbow trout.

She glanced up across the table to see Fakir was looking at her. She made a face at him. “What?”

“Have you decided what you want?”

Ahiru nodded. “I think so. Have you?”

“Yeah, I’ll probably get the lunch special.” He paused before changing the subject, “You know, I noticed earlier that your p—”

“Here’s your water, dears!” Ebine announced as she set two ice cold cups of water before them. “Are you ready to order?”

Fakir exhaled in slight annoyance at the interruption, but responded anyway. “I’ll have the lunch special.”

“Oh, wonderful choice! You know we make the best _spätzle_ in town. Soup or salad?”

“Soup.”

Ebine nodded and turned her attention to Ahiru. “And you sweetie?”

The duck bit her bottom lip before beginning, “I’ll have the rainbow trout mew-moo-moony… uhh…” she tapped her finger on the menu and showed it to the older woman. “This.”

The head chef leaned over and inspected the menu where the girl was pointing. “Rainbow trout _meunière_?” Ahiru nodded, prompting Ebine to stand back up. “Excellent! And soup or salad for you?”

“Uhm… salad?”

“Will that be all for you two?”

They both nodded and Ahiru was worried for a moment she would try and force even more food on them, but she grinned broadly and took the menus from them. “I’ll get your order in right away! It’ll be just a few moments!”

Ahiru watched as the woman walked away, a bounce ever-present in her step. She turned to Fakir with a laugh. “You know, when Mythos and I were here, she was so desperate to feed anyone she gave us all this food for free! It was so _cold_ though. Even the food that looked hot and had steam coming from it!” She wrapped her hands around her glass and looked at the water within. “To be fair, she was under the influence of a heart shard.”

Fakir gave her a slight smile. He wasn’t sure if he was thankful or not for the interruption, but decided not to proceed with his earlier conversation. “I doubt the food is cold now, considering.”

“I sure hope so!” She took a sip of her water before continuing. “Her late husband was the head chef and together they ran a successful business. After he passed she really struggled and said she wanted to see their restaurant become wonderful again. I’m glad her hard work made her dreams come true!”

“It is rather popular now.”

“Your soup!” Ebine’s energetic voice interjected as she set a bowl of steaming soup before Fakir. “And your salad!” She set a small plate of salad in front of Ahiru. “Enjoy!” And just as abruptly as she arrived, she skipped off.

“Oooh! The soup looks great!” Ahiru tried not to drool over the divine smell.

“Maybe you should’ve ordered it.” Fakir raised his eyebrows almost challengingly. She pouted, causing Fakir to sigh and offer her his spoon. “Alright, you can try a bite, if you’d like.”

Ahiru squealed with glee and leaned across the table while reaching for the utensil. She hesitated only briefly for fear of cold food before slurping up what was in the spoon. “Ahh.” A small ‘thump’ sounded out as she sat back into her chair. “Nice and hot.” She looked down at her salad before stabbing some lettuce, cucumber, and bell pepper with her fork. “Here, try some of my salad!” She held the fork across the table expectantly.

Fakir’s face flushed. “D-Don’t be ridiculous!”

She frowned, “Whaddaya mean? I tried your soup, you should try my salad!”

Fakir glanced around the restaurant. Two other indoor tables were occupied, but none of their occupants seemed to be paying them any attention. By the time his eyes fell back on Ahiru’s face her cheeks were puffed in indignation. “Fine!” He quickly bit off the morsels on the fork she held out to him and leaned back, training his eyes anywhere but at her as he chewed.

She grinned, satisfied. “Is it good?” she asked. Before waiting for his answer, she began digging into her salad. “Ith if guf!” She slurred out over a mouthful of boiled egg and tomato.

The writer tried to quell his embarrassment and focus on his soup. “You shouldn’t talk with your mouth full, idiot.”

Ahiru swallowed her mouthful. “Ooops, sorry!” She took another bite.

By the time Ebine was delivering their main course, Fakir was just finishing his soup and Ahiru was long done with her salad. “I’ll take these dishes for you.” The older woman cooed and picked up their dishes. “Enjoy your lunch!”

Ahiru’s mouth watered just looking at the trout—she was glad she decided on fish. She made short work of her meal and the included side of asparagus, making small talk with Fakir between bites.

To Fakir’s relief—and maybe just a _little_ disappointment that he wasn’t going to acknowledge—Ahiru did not insist he eat some of her fish. He had more than enough food, anyway. To Ebine’s credit, she wasn’t lying, their _spätzle_ was the best he’d had in quite a while. Fakir couldn’t help but steal quick glances at the girl sitting across from him as she enjoyed her food. She always looked so happy when she ate.

“Would you like to try some?” The words came out of his mouth without his consent, and his traitorous arm was offering some cheese covered _spätzle_ across the table.

Ahiru’s eyes lit up and she leaned across the table, gladly taking the bite off his fork. “Mmm!” She closed her eyes as she leaned back into her seat. “That’s delicious.”

Even through the deep red staining his face, Fakir smiled at her. “It is.”

Looking down at her own plate, she frowned. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any fish left to share with you.” She seemed unperturbed by the fact that this was not their norm when eating.

Fakir shrugged it off, “I have too much food as is. Don’t worry about it.”

She pursed her lips to the side in disappointment and sunk down into her chair. A moment passed before she perked back up. “Say Fakir, can we go for a walk around town after this?”

“Sure,” he shrugged. “Did you want to go somewhere in particular?”

She shook her head while admiring the décor. “Not really, I just haven’t been on a walk recently.”

Worried for his mental health if he kept going at this pace, Fakir quickly finished his food. Ebine must have been keeping a watchful eye on them because she arrived not too long after.

“Would you like dessert?” She asked expectantly.

“Ah, no thanks.” Ahiru waved her hand dismissively in front of her face with a smile.

Ebine made small talk in her usual animated way as she waited for Fakir to pay the bill. He handed the necessary amount and they exchanged pleasant goodbyes before the two took their leave of the establishment.

Ahiru crossed her arms casually behind her head as they walked back down the path side by side. “Thanks, Fakir,” she grinned. “Lunch was delicious and it was so nice to see Ebine is doing so well.”

Fakir shrugged and stayed silent, but a soft smile graced his lips. Ahiru had been acting fairly subdued the past month and he was thankful the outing had lifted her spirits. And maybe he was a _little_ pleased they had a nice time together… alone… on purpose… just a little. Autor and Ahiru had been going on small outings every week or so, and he would be entirely lying if he said it didn’t bother him—and he certainly did say that—but, the subtle gloom that had settled over her didn’t lift as cleanly after their time together as it had today. Fakir happily claimed this as his silent victory.

“Say, Fakir… what do you remember about your parents?”

He stopped, surprised at the abruptness of the question. “What?”

Ahiru scratched her neck and looked away, suddenly aware of how charged that question probably was. “I-I mean… like-like do you…” She waved her hands in front of her haphazardly, “You know what? Never mind, it was a stupid question, huh?”

Fakir started walking alongside her again, silence weighing heavily between them. Finally, he said, “I remember them mostly in form. You’ve seen the pictures Charon saved from my parents’ home on his walls. My mother had long brown hair and my father had short hair the same color as mine. He was very… brave and didn’t talk much. She was very gentle… and warm.” He gave a half laugh and shot Ahiru a crooked smile when he saw her staring at him with her wide eyes. “It was a long time ago and I was pretty young; I didn’t really know them. I guess I avoid the subject, but I don’t mind talking about with you.”

The corners of her mouth turned upwards as she folded her arms behind her back and looked at the ground. “I don’t remember my parents, either…”

Fakir looked at her in bewilderment. “Hm?”

She pursed her lips and shrugged.

The writer looked back ahead of him. “You know, Charon always told me it doesn’t matter who your parents were, because you’re your own person.”

Ahiru glanced down an alley when a flash of light brown disappeared around a distant corner. “Ye—” A sudden warmth in her chest caused her to look down where her pendant glittered white. “—AH!” She clutched the stone in panic and looked at Fakir.

“What’s wrong?” Concern painted his features as he regarded her.

She laughed awkwardly. “Ah ha ha… n-nothing! Just tripped! Haha, I’m such a klutz.”

He sighed and shook his head. “Idiot, be careful.”

“Heh heh, yeah…” Ahiru looked at the pendant. It was no longer glowing. ‘A fragment? But where?’ She took note of the nearby shops and made plans to return later to investigate. Should she go now, though? To make sure whoever had the fragment didn’t go too far? She nervously bit her lip and peeked through her bangs at Fakir. How was she going to get rid of him, though? They had already walked a few blocks away and she getting increasingly anxious.

“Fakir?” she tried.

“Hm?”

“Er, that is… I just remembered…”

Fakir stopped and turned to her. “What is it?”

She desperately raked her brain for a plausible excuse. “I’m supposed to uh…” She already did the laundry. She agreed not to wash the floors today. Already ate lunch. Didn’t have any friends to g—oh, but she did have a friend she could’ve made plans with. “IforgotIhadplans. With Autor! To go… hang out! I better go, sorry!” She jogged back, waving over her shoulder before sprinting around a corner.

Fakir sighed. He wanted to go to the library, anyway. The last thing he needed was Ahiru being nosy and wanting to know what he was researching. She didn’t need to know about his most recent concerns with the stone on her necklace.

The sinking feeling of disappointment was a bit distracting, though.

So much for his silent victory.

* * *

 

Ahiru had been running along the streets, backtracking where she and Fakir had been walking and along the alleyways adjoining. Her pendant didn’t flash as it had earlier, and she was getting discouraged. A few hours had passed and not even a clue to what could’ve been the fragment. She thought back to the light brown she had seen. What was it? Someone’s shoe? A dress? A kid dragging a toy around? She had only seen it a fraction of a second, and her memory was getting fuzzier every time she tried to recall it. What if it the brown thing had nothing to do with the fragment and she was chasing the wrong thing?

She groaned in frustration as she leaned back heavily against a parapet on a bridge before sliding down to the ground. “How am I supposed to find the stupid thing?” With a pointed glare at her pendant she leaned her head back. “ _Why_ do I even have to find these fragments? What is this even working towards?”

The world came to a screeching, yet somber, halt.

“ **Now, now, now,** ” a booming voice pervaded the area, “ **we had a deal, little duck.** ”

“Drosselmeyer!”

The voice chuckled as he appeared, sneering eyes first, before her. “ **Did you miss me, Ahiru?** ”

“No.” She muttered out the side of her mouth as she glared up at him.

He laughed. “ **Cheeky!** ” He added with feigned sadness, “ **I’m hurt.** ”

Ahiru huffed, too tired and already annoyed with her hunt to humor him. “What do you want this time?”

“ **Straight to the chase, then, eh? Not a very interesting story telling device, that…** ”

“I’m not playing along this time.” Ahiru stood and dusted herself off.

“ **That’s dangerous thinking, there. A character shouldn’t stray from her role.** ”

She looked at the large face filling a shadow on the building across the street. “If you’re writing a story, why don’t you just write someone else to do it?” She turned away and started crossing the bridge.

His face apparated before her, now struggling to fit in the acute shadow of the parapet. “ **Write someone else into the story? That’s just lazy writing! Plus,** ” Drosselmeyer paused and switched to a shadow further down the street, “ **does the town look like it’s under the influence of story magic?** ”

Ahiru glanced around her. “Well everyone’s disappeared, so…” She was being difficult on purpose, but he had a point. Now that he had mentioned it, no one was extraordinarily strange, not even those she removed the fragments—whatever _they_ were—from. There were no humanoid animals, and people were able to travel through Kinkan town normally. Then again, who’s to say Drosselmeyer’s last story wasn’t just a weird one.

“ **Oh, haha. Yes, it does _seem_ no one is around you.** ” He moved his face to a larger, closer shadow on a house. “ **Children are so impudent these days…** ” he muttered under his breath, “ ** _write someone else into the story_ ,**” he mocked in a higher voice.

Ahiru ignored him and walked past the house.

He materialized into a shadow near her. “ **Regardless, you can’t take off that pendant like you could all those years before, little duck.** ”

She stopped, a hand unbiddenly touching the pearlescent stone.

Sensing he found his in, he continued, “ **Besides, you’ve seen the pain those carrying fragments hold. Don’t you want to help them?** ”

He took her silence as answer enough. “ **Of course you do, my little duck! One can never go wrong with you as the heroine.** ”

“What are you do—”

The world came back just as screechingly as it had gone out, the sudden color almost blinding to its earlier desaturated hues.

“—ing…” she finished lamely. She sighed, no point in asking questions he wasn’t even there to answer. ‘As if he would answer if he were.’

Down the road, a crowd was gathered and a deep, tempestuous tune sang out amidst the appreciative gasps. She couldn’t help but be curious, and considering the afternoon she was having, she felt she deserved a little bit of a break. The crowd was a little dense, but thanks to her petite figure she was able to squeeze in far enough to see the source of music.

A cellist sat on a couple wooden crates and intoned a sonorous melody while two ballet dancers performed a _pas de deux_. The ballerina moved with the flowing grace achieved only with years of diligent practice. Ahiru watched with captivated eyes as the danseur performed a lift, making his partner look lighter than a feather.

Warmth filled to her chest, causing her to look down. Her pendant was gleaming. ‘It’s here?!’ Her eyes shot up as she scanned the area. ‘But who?’

The crowd was large enough she wasn’t sure she’d be able to pick the source of the fragment out amongst them. It could be anybody: one of the street performers, someone in the audience, even a passerby. She was ready to cry out in frustration when her eyes caught it.

Towards the edge of the crowd across from her sat a light brown—almost taupe—cat sitting rapt with attention. She couldn’t explain how, but she just knew. She knew it was the cat.

Not wanting to lose track of the slippery feline again, she kept her eyes trained on it as she fought her way along the crowd. As she got closer, that cat must’ve sensed her interest in it and turned to flee.

“No, no! Don’t you dare!” Ahiru cried as she pushed her way out of the crowd in pursuit of the runaway.

Panic washed over her body at the mere thought of having to look all over town again for this cat should she lose it. Yes, at least she’d know what she was looking for, but finding a cat that doesn’t want to be found wasn’t going to be any easier—and she certainly couldn’t go flitting around town already transformed. She could’ve screamed when she saw it dart around a corner of an alleyway, and sprinted even harder.

“Please,” she whined desperately, “I just want to help!” She came to a skidding stop when she turned the corner and he was nowhere to be seen. “No, nonono!” Ahiru groaned and sunk to her knees. “I just want to help…” she repeated under her breath.

A soft trill to her left drew her attention. There, crouched under some wooden debris, was the cat. It stared up at her with wide, olive green eyes, and the longer it stared at her the less hesitant it seemed. The cat seemed almost familiar. The color of the coat, the creamy-tan paws and snout, the eyes…

Ahiru stared a moment longer before whispering, “Mr. Cat?”

He responded with another low trill.

“I can help…” she murmured before being consumed by the warmth of her transformation.

By the time she was standing en pointe before him, he had already crawled out from under the debris and had hopped up on top of it. He trilled again.

“What pains you so?” She leaned forward and offered him a delicate hand.

He sniffed it before looking back up at her. _I don’t know._

She pulled back in surprise. He didn’t speak, but she could understand him. She hadn’t been entirely sure it was Mr. Cat before, but the voice she had heard was undeniably his.

Princess Tutu kneeled before him. “Are you sure? Does it have to do with the ballet dancers?”

 _Is that what they are called? It sounds right…_ He stood up and sniffed the feather-like strands protruding from her scalp. _I don’t know, it seemed so familiar. They perform there often, it makes me feel… wistful._

This gave her pause. Like her, Mr. Cat was forced to go back to his original form: a cat. She, better than anyone else, understood the pain he felt. What it was like to want to dance. What it was like to be limited by her animal form. What it was like to have had the ability only for a little while before it was taken away. She, however, was given a magical out. How could she possibly help soothe his pain, when she had suffered it and taken the easy way?

Luckily, he did not wait for her to speak. _I have achieved my greatest dream: I have love. I have a wonderful mate and have had many kittens with her._

Princess Tutu smiled at this. She had been threatened with marriage enough times to know how happy this probably made him.

_We’ve had two litters now, and our first six are all adults making their own families—three of them were even taken in as pets. This is all I’ve ever wanted, but I still feel unfulfilled._

Dance had been so important to him during the story. She remembered his story of his treasured slippers and how he got them from “the great Meowsinski,” and she remembered how devastated he was when Mythos, under the influence of raven’s blood, had destroyed them. How could dance not leave a gaping hole in his heart?

She stood and performed her signature mime, “Won’t you come dance with me, Mr. Cat?”

_Dance? But I am just a cat._

“Even a cat,” Princess Tutu began, “can dance if they feel it in their soul.” With every word she felt more confidant in the direction her heart told her to take her advice. “You feel it in your soul, don’t you?”

_I… do._

She smiled at him and inclined her head encouragingly.

He took to it as naturally as a cat turned ballet teacher turned cat could. He switched between attempting on two legs to all fours depending on how easily the movements came to him. Together, they took tiny steps, _bourrée en couru_.

 _This, this feels_ right _, like I was meant to do this. How can I give it up?_

“You do not have to, don’t you see?” Princess Tutu led him through _fouettés_ , with as much grace as a feline could muster.

_But my body does not move as a human’s does._

“Then make your own movements. Let the music fill your body and take you away.” She turned on her toe and jumped, _pas de chat_.

 _How will I share my passion?_ He mimicked her actions almost perfectly.

She drew her chest down to her shins in a bow before straightening back out. “With your family. Show your mate how to feel the music. Share it with your kittens.” Keeping her upper body rigid, she performed an _entrechat trois_.

The cat leapt in the air, performing his own _entrechat six_ , ending in a _plie_ and transitioning into another _pas de chat_. _You’re right! What good is love if I cannot share my passions. I can bring my family to watch the street performers and dance the night away with them in the alleyways._ He landed on all fours and bowed his body to her. _Thank you, for giving my joy back._

Princess Tutu curtsied elegantly back to him. “Not at all, it was always inside of you.”

Mr. Cat mewed as a dark light shot from his chest and into her pendant, his body crumpling in its wake.

Tutu gasped, “Mr. Cat!” as her own body was brought to its knees. With a shuddering moan, she crawled closer to him and lightly caressed his face. She was relieved to feel he was still breathing—not that there had been a precedent of fragment or even heart shard carriers to die, but seeing his tiny body unmoving was disconcerting.

She groaned and let her transformation fall, her energy was sapped, and it was simply too difficult to keep it up. Tiredly, she pulled Mr. Cat into her lap and cradled him. “I guess I’m not alone in the wounds the story left, huh?” She absentmindedly stroked his cheeks and rubbed at the base of his ears.

Ahiru scooted back to the brick wall behind them and leaned against it. At least she didn’t pass out this time. Something about passing out in an alleyway seemed rather unsafe. She was utterly exhausted though. Her chest felt heavy and even holding her head up seemed a chore. Even if she could move, she wasn’t about to leave Mr. Cat defenseless. Letting her head fall on her shoulder, she looked down at him. He looked like he was doing well on his own, at least he seemed to be well fed. She closed her eyes, willing herself not to fall asleep.

About an hour passed before she heard a soft mew from beside her. Ahiru cracked open an eye. Sitting on her right was a white cat, seemingly concerned about the sleeping lump in her lap. Ahiru smiled. “Are you his kitty wife?” She moved the arm that was cupped around his back, allowing the white cat to sniff at him.

The cat eyed her suspiciously before licking Mr. Cat’s back. This apparently was enough to jostle him awake, as Ahiru could feel a deep rumble in her legs as he started purring. A moment passed before he trilled at her and stretched, kicking his front and back legs out as far as they could go. He trilled again as he opened his eyes, pausing as his wide eyes stopped on Ahiru’s face. His pupils adjusted from wide to small back to a medium size as he stared at her. Cautiously, he sniffed her left hand before butting his head against it and resuming his purring.

Ahiru gently patted his head. “Are you feeling better, Mr. Cat?”

He cooed and stood up with another stretch.

“Your wifey’s here, you better go,” she giggled.

Mr. Cat pressed his paws against her chest and rubbed his cheek to hers. In a flash, he was gone, the white cat running off beside him.

Ahiru smiled and rubbed her temple. Her head had been throbbing a little, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been in the past. Maybe her body was finally adjusting to the demand her responsibilities as Princess Tutu put on her. She stood up unsteadily, using the wall to help her balance. Giving herself a moment to adjust, she went on her way. “Hopefully Fakir’s not mad I stayed out so late…”

* * *

 

Drosselmeyer laughed as he rocked in his favorite chair, the boisterous sound mixing with the clicking of the omnipotent gears surrounding him. Before him was a gear reflecting Ahiru’s weary face as she walked back to Charon’s house.

“Ooh, how expected of our heroine!” He eyed the gray stone shining in the setting sun with a grin. “Things are moving along quite nicely.

An indignant ‘tip tap tat’ rang out from beside him.

“Where’s the love-love, zura?!”

Drosselmeyer pouted for only a moment as he looked down at his seafoam green haired companion. “ _Oh_ , I _know_.” He looked back at the girl trudging along in the gear. “Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten what we talked about.”

Uzura rapped at her drum, “So Ahiru and Fakir will be lucky-ducky, lovey-dovey, zura?”

Drosselmeyer shrugged. “Maybe.”

She glared up at him petulantly.

“Come now, I haven’t forgotten,” he repeated. “After all, the sweetest tragedies come from the fall of the happiest of lives.”

It was Uzura’s turn to pout, “What about their lovey-dovey, zura?”

The old man patted her head, “I can’t _make_ them fall in love, Uzura, that’s up to them.” He pulled his hand back up and scratched at his whiskered chin. “Speaking of love, I wonder how that useless writer descendant of mine is doing at trying to thwart me…” He sniggered, “And yet the answer is so close to him! Oh, how delicious!”

The gear’s picture switched to one of a young man bent over a weathered book. Drosselmeyer’s grin broadened.

* * *

 

Fakir straightened his back with a sigh and rubbed at his eyes. He had been going at this for hours, but he could hardly concentrate. Of course, he knew in heart of hearts he wouldn’t get much of anywhere. The knight had long ago exhausted this library’s catalog of books on stones, gems, and anything of that nature—magical or fairytale or not. It frustrated him to no end that even with this potential new lead, he was no closer to figuring anything out than he had been when he found her at the edge of the lake.

Her smiling face flashed in his mind.

“ _IforgotIhadplans. With Autor!_ ”

He growled. If only those damn words would stop replaying in his head, he would’ve been able to concentrate and maybe then he would’ve found something.

“ _I better go, sorry!_ ”

Fakir was ready to slam his face into the table. He hated that it bothered him so much. He hated that she was completely unaware that Autor was trying to court her. He hated that she was even interested in hanging out with that nerd in the first place. He hated that she did so so often. He hated that she left their date to go be with—

“It wasn’t a date!” Fakir startled himself by his sudden proclamation. He looked around awkwardly to make sure no one had heard him. Luckily, no one was around him.

He was just frazzled and stressed out from researching nonstop for so long. That was all. He supposed he should probably call it quits for the day.

Standing, Fakir gathered the pile of books he had been looking through in his arms. Unfortunately, he had chosen a spot further away from the book cart. Groaning, he trudged across the library. He mentally prayed Charon would make something heavier for dinner so it would put him out of his misery quick when he went to bed.

“No way, you’re making that up!” A girl hidden amongst the stacks squealed incredulously.

Another girl responded, “I am not! I saw it with my own two eyes!”

Fakir rolled his eyes, he was never one to partake in any gossip. Especially, as was his experience in school, since he was often a victim of it. He walked past the shelves the girls were standing between briskly.

“It was a huge swan!” The second girl insisted. “Dancing around a giant tree!”

Fakir’s body froze and his ears burned. A swan?

A scoff sounded out from the first girl. “Yeah, you keep saying that! In that clearing by the museum with all the rocks. You know, where there’s no tree.”

Fakir darted into the stacks behind them, trying his best to be discreet while getting as close as possible to the two.

“It was there, I’m telling you, I saw it!” The second girl stomped her foot.

“So how did a big ol’ tree grow and get cut down over night?”

“I don’t know, but it was there!”

The first girl sighed in exasperation. “When did you see it, again?”

“About a month ago…”

“You mean when you had a go at your pop’s liquor cabinet?”

The second girl whined, “I _promise_ that had _nothing_ to do with it! I really did see it!”

“Uh huh. Or you were drunk off your rocker.”

Silence rang out between the two before the first girl added sympathetically. “I believe you _think_ you saw something. Who knows what it was.”

The second girl groaned and started walking off, upset she was obviously getting nowhere at getting her friend to believe her. Unbeknownst to either of them, she had definitely at least _piqued_ someone else’s interest.

Fakir furrowed his brow as he tried to make sense of what he had just heard. A giant swan and a tree by the museum? But that’s where the oak tree was… He stiffened as his mind reached the only possible conclusion he could come to.

“It can’t be… Princess Tutu?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So today marks the day where the chapters here have caught up with those on ff. Essentially this means the updating schedule is going to slow down since I don't have premade content to post anymore. But now the updates here will coincide with those on ff!
> 
> I didn't write in the lisp the English voice actor, T.P. Postlewaithe, chose to use for Mr. Cat to keep the text easier to read. My apologies if that made it harder for you to hear his voice in your head (unless, of course, you watched the sub instead of the dub, in which case it was probably hard to apply Yasunori Matsumoto's Neko-sensei to the English, anyway).


	8. Elusive Spectre

_Once upon a time there was a wandering knight. For as long as the knight could remember he searched for his purpose in life, travelling near and far. Even after decades of searching he never found it. One day he simply ceased to exist. For what good is a knight with no one to protect?_

Ahiru stood nervously outside of Fakir’s closed door. He had been all but avoiding her for a few weeks now. Staring down at the coffee she held in her hands, she tried to gather the courage to knock on his door. Maybe she was making everything up, but she couldn’t help but feel he was upset with her about something.

‘He’d have plenty of reason to be,’ she thought bitterly.

She pushed all negative thoughts from her head and resolutely rapped at his door. “Hey, Fakir?”

“Not right now, I’m busy,” came his voice from the other side.

There went her courage. “Oh…” She glanced at the hot beverage in her hands again. “I-uh, I have some coffee…”

“Just leave it outside the door.”

Ahiru bit the inside of her cheek with a frown. Dejectedly, she set the platter with the mug outside his door. She waited just a moment before trudging back to her room.

Fakir groaned as he leaned back in his chair. His green eyes glared up at the uncaring ceiling of his room. His back ached from being bent over and his head hurt from the mental exertion. For more than three weeks now he had been looking into potential Princess Tutu sightings and all he had so far was an overheard story from a teenage girl who may or may not have been drunk when she supposedly saw a giant swan dance with a tree. Granted the story seemed credible, to him at least, since there did so happen to be the spirit of a mythical oak tree where she claimed to see it—but, it was still just an eavesdropped claim made by a girl who was most likely wasted.

He shifted uncomfortably. He should just be blunt and ask Ahiru about it, but he was reluctant. She’d probably think him foolish if he asked her about some drunk girl’s rumor.

“It is Ahiru, though…” he muttered. She was pretty unassuming. She’d probably just laugh it off. Thinking someone foolish for taking stock in a rumor was more his shtick, and feel foolish he did.

He was more worried she’d be offended, like as if he was accusing her of something.

Or maybe he was more worried she was hiding something very big from him.

And maybe he wanted to have facts on his side before he confronted her.

He ruffled his hair in annoyance. He didn’t want to think what any of this could possibly mean.

Fakir scowled at the newspapers stacked before him. He had been scouring the past three or so months’ worth, but to no avail. Not even the insipid gossip columns held anything of any use. Maybe he was putting too much stock in the words of a girl whom not even her friend believed. And to think, right before he got caught up in some trivial rumor, he was looking into Ahiru’s pendant. The writer sighed and straightened the stack out. It would be best if he returned these soon. Getting out of the house would be nice, too, even if it was just to go to the library.

Fakir gathered his things and carefully stuck the newspapers into his cloth bag. While slinging his bag over his shoulder he pushed his door open… and managed to knock over the steaming cup of coffee Ahiru had placed on the floor.

“Damn it!” Fakir cursed as he stared at the pooling liquid strewed across the floor.

“Fakir?” Ahiru poked her head out her door. “Are you alright?”

“Fine.” Fakir retorted.

Blue eyes scanned the scene in the hallway, quickly assessing the situation. “Oh! Haha…” She scratched the back of her head. “I suppose I shouldn’t’ve put it there…”

The young man exhaled heavily in response.

“I’ll clean it up, okay? Since it was my fault… Sorta.”

Fakir started, “You don’t—” but it was too late, as she was already dashing down the stairs.

Or, _falling_ , as it seemed by the sudden loud ‘thumps’ and shouts of pain.

Try as he may, Fakir couldn’t stifle his ever-present concern for the awkward girl. “Ahi—”

“I’m okay!” her boisterous voice called out from downstairs. The sounds of her scrambling along resumed.

Fakir sighed, half in annoyance and half in relief. Moments later the duck-girl was on her knees in front of him, mercilessly sopping up the spilt liquid with a towel from the kitchen.

The girl in question laughed awkwardly. “Guess I should’ve put that against the wall and not your door, huh?” She nodded to herself. “Yeah, that would’ve made more sense. Don’t know what I was thinking!”

The rag in her hands was stained a dark brown from the liquid and was only a _teeny_ bit uncomfortably hot. She dropped the soiled cloth, withholding a wince, and looked up at Fakir. The smell of black coffee permeated the air.

“Oh? Are you going to the library?” Ahiru asked, eyeing the satchel hanging from his shoulder. “Can I go?”

“No.” Fakir responded much too quickly.

Her reaction was instantaneous. Crestfallen, she glanced down at the dirty towel and watched the small wisps of steam rise and dissipate into the air.

Fakir ran his hand through his hair, trying to ignore the pit of guilt growing heavier in his stomach. “Just… not today. I have a lot of research to get done and I don’t want any distractions.”

A small light of hope flickered in her eyes as she looked back up at him. “I’ll be quiet! Promise!”

“When have you ever been quiet?”

“I—!” Ahiru frowned, not sure how to even respond at this point.

“Ahiru…” Fakir could feel his will crumbling, but he couldn’t let himself give in. “Not today, okay?” He paused before adding, “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?”

He nodded resolutely. “Tomorrow, after I get back from helping Charon at the smithy. We can go for a walk.” Fakir was relieved to see the light blaze back into her eyes.

“Okay, tomorrow!” She grinned up at him.

He bade her goodbye and set off for the library. Too much time has gone by without him getting anywhere. If his research today didn’t yield any results, it was time he accepted the girl was just drunk and this is why you don’t get involved in gossip.

His trek to the library took longer than usual, as his gait slowed with his heavy mind. All the same, he made it there and set about to do his work after returning his stack of newspapers to today’s library attendant.

* * *

 

One of Fakir’s favorite aspects of the library was the quiet. Not that he couldn’t handle a little noise—anyone who lived with Ahiru and, once upon a time, Uzura, would grow accustomed to concentrating despite loud noises—but he appreciated it nonetheless. Especially with his growing stress headache.

The stack of newspapers sitting before him brought him up to date, and despite reading every word whether the article looked like it was relevant or not, he could find nothing that suggested anything related to Princess Tutu.

He probably should’ve given up sooner.

To the left of him sat the only copy of _Prinz und Rabe_ the library owned. Fakir stared at it for a moment before he reached out and pulled the weathered tome to him. Having read the story more times than he cared to remember, Fakir flipped to the first page Princess Tutu was mentioned with memorized ease.

Not much was ever mentioned about Princess Tutu in the story. She was a tragic princess who loved the prince and was doomed to disappear in a flash of light should she ever speak her feelings to the one she loved. Really, Fakir wasn’t sure why Drosselmeyer bothered making such a tragic story arc for a such a minor character who only existed for a few short passages in the original work. It was almost as if he intended to let the story go unfinished so he could not only bring the story to life, but give the biggest tragedy in the story a better chance at a larger spotlight. He shook his head as if to shake the very thoughts from his head. Surely Drosselmeyer didn’t have that much foresight.

“ _Prinz und Rabe_ , again, Fakir?”

Fakir recognized that smug voice anywhere and could feel his headache intensifying already. “Autor.”

“Why even bother pulling the book out? Surely you have it memorized by now.” The purple-haired pianist set his hands on the table Fakir was working at and leaned forward. “Or is your memory that bad?”

Fakir didn’t bother looking up from the book and turned the page. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

Autor didn’t respond, prompting Fakir to glance up at him. The wannabe writer was inspecting the entire area, clearly looking for something. _Or someone_.

Suddenly feeling territorial, Fakir set the book down with a little too much force. “ _What_ do you want, Autor?”

Autor turned his head back to Fakir and focused on him. “So you did come alone, then?”

“Yes,” Fakir ground out.

“What a shame,” he straightened back up and shrugged. “I was hoping Ahiru would be with you. She’s delightful, isn’t she? Such a bubbly personality—quite the opposite of you, really.”

“Get to the point, Autor.” The last thing Fakir wanted to do was listen to Autor drag on about how cute Ahiru was and how unsuited Fakir was for her. ‘Like Autor’s any better suited,’ Fakir thought contemptuously.

Autor clucked his tongue and pulled the chair across from Fakir out, ignoring the heated glare burning into his face as he sat down. “Nothing to get so worked up over, Fakir, I assure you.” He paused and regarded the woodprint on the book across from him. A girl with wings for arms.

Fakir involuntarily followed suit, staring at the gentle curve of the prima ballerina’s form. His eyes shot back to Autor, uncomfortable with how the other man was studying the picture.

“Studying Princess Tutu, are you?” Autor finally tore his eyes from the illustration.

“Not really.”

“You know, I wrote a song about her once. Ahiru seemed to quite like it when she listened to my performance at _Klavier_.” He grinned smugly at this.

Fakir rubbed absently at his left temple, willing this walking headache to leave him be. “I’m sure she did.”

Folding his arms on the table, Autor leaned forward, his tone conspiratorial. “I used to think of her as nothing more than a device Drosselmeyer created to express hopelessness, specifically that of love—love doesn’t conquer everything and can bring unrivaled suffering. She was such a minor character, what other purpose could she possibly serve?

“I’m starting to think Drosselmeyer’s genius goes much deeper than that, though.” Autor leaned back in his chair.

These fanatic rants of Drosselmeyer’s so-called prowess were far past grating to Fakir. He ran his fingers through his bangs in aggravation. “I didn’t ask for any discourse on the themes in the book.”

Autor chuckled at this. “For someone who supposedly hates Drosselmeyer and his works so much, you certainly do read them a lot.”

“You don’t have to like an author or their work to respect their impact on the literary world,” he countered.

Autor leaned forward again, this time resting his chin along his knuckles. “And any decent story enthusiast would seek an outside opinion, don’t you agree?”

The dark-green haired man resisted the urge to throttle his unwanted smug companion. Sure, had he been writing on Drosselmeyer’s work, exploring outside voices would be necessary, but that wasn’t the case. All Fakir wanted were some answers—at the very least, a lead.

The purple haired man took his companion’s silence as a victory. With a smirk he began to brag, “You know, unsurprisingly, as a potential heir of Drosselmeyer—” Fakir’s eyebrow twitched; only Autor would _want_ to be related to that lunatic “—Princess Tutu came to me in a dream recently.”

Fakir’s body went cold.

“What?”

“Oh, I assure you it’s true,” Autor added glibly. “About three months ago. I remember because it was right before I met Ahiru that day in the library.”

Thought processing had all but stopped. Everything felt like it was moving too slowly.

“She was very comforting and gentle—effortlessly elegant. The mark of a perfect woman.

“I can only assume Drosselmeyer sent her to me as a sign,” he preened. “Perhaps I’ve been reading her character all wrong. At her most base, she represents the hopelessness of love, as I’ve mentioned earlier, but she also represents how fleeting life can be.

“You see—”

Fakir couldn’t bear to listen to Autor’s drivel any longer. He felt physically sick. Standing abruptly, he muttered some lame excuse about needing to leave and left, not even bothering to put his books or newspapers away. Pushing past the door, he wandered aimlessly around town.

Autor had a dream about Princess Tutu the day Fakir brought her to the library for the first time since she became human again. Both Autor and Ahiru had passed out that day, in the library.

Did Ahiru know she was Princess Tutu again? Maybe she becomes unconscious when it happens now? If she were to become Princess Tutu again, could that change? What purpose could Princess Tutu possibly serve now? Surely, Drosselmeyer would have to be involved if Princess Tutu was back, right? Maybe Autor, through all his fanaticism, could sense that Ahiru was once Princess Tutu and really did simply dream of her.

Fakir didn’t know what to think or what to make of any of this new information. The sun was beginning to set by the time he found his senses again. He stood, staring down at a river, on a bridge by the edge of town. The water gleamed in the orange-ish, pinkish-hues cast by the sunset. Everything he thought he knew seemed just as hazy as his reflection staring back at him. So, he focused on the one thing he knew for sure: Ahiru was human again.

Ahiru, with her bright, cornflower blue eyes, was human again. Her salmon-colored hair was long, defiant, and always in the way. Her nose and cheeks were dusted with caramel freckles. Her smile warm, bubbly, and welcoming. Her laugh was loud, quackish, and contagious. She was awkward and always managed to trip over herself. She was brimming with compassion and love. Ahiru, in all of her graceless charm, was human again.

Fakir had missed her so much over the past two years she was back to being a duck. He would do anything for her. Despite their less than amicable beginnings, she was the only one who truly believed in him. Frankly, he didn’t care in what capacity he stood by her side, as long as she let him be there for her. Not knowing what was going on, if she was in danger, or how he could possibly help her was killing him. Fakir hated sitting on the sidelines, idly watching as his loved ones fought battles by themselves. He would not let her fight alone ever again.

But…

He couldn’t let paranoia impede on his relationships. Fakir had to constantly remind himself of this. Desire to protect Mythos from his story soured their relationship and led Fakir into dark places. There was no way he would let himself become as abusive and controlling as he was to Mythos to Ahiru. However, the path he walked on was a slippery slope for him. He was avoiding Ahiru, ignoring her, pretending he didn’t see the hurt in her eyes as he pushed past.

He had to be better. He had to be stronger. He had to trust Ahiru.

Unlike Mythos, she has her heart. Ahiru’s free will was fully intact, and she never let him forget it. Fakir needed to try his best to believe she knew what she was doing, and would come to him when it was time. He wasn’t sure how long he could hold out, but he had to try. The wondering was going to drive him insane. He needed to focus on what he knew. He knew Ahiru.

With a few almost imperceptible nods, Fakir resolved to not think about it anymore—at least for now. Sudden awareness flooded his mind now that it was no longer preoccupied. White with strain, his knuckles ached from the vice-like grip he had on the bricks of the parapet.

“Damn it.” He cursed under his breath as he struggled to get enough feeling back in his fingers to release them. Once free, he absentmindedly rubbed at his pained joints and headed home.

* * *

 

Charon sighed as he stirred the stew bubbling away on the stove. For the eighth day in a row, Ahiru was moping at the table while he cooked. True, it was not uncommon for his younger ward to keep him company when he cooked, but her lack of ebullience was uncommon. Or at least it _was_ uncommon.

Fakir was a difficult kid and now he was a difficult man. He always struggled with making friends and opening up to others, but his relationship with Ahiru was different. She brought something out of Fakir that no one else did. Anyone could see Fakir was crazy for the girl, and Charon was no blind man. He was softer with her, more patient with her, even his teasing of her was teeming with affection.

So why in the hell was Fakir leaving her alone all the damn time?

Charon wasn’t getting any younger, he wanted to see his son happy and it was like the only person stopping Fakir was Fakir.

Que another woeful murmur from Ahiru.

Charon tapped his ladle on the side of the pot to shake off any loose liquid and set it on a worn spoon rest. Wiping his hands on his apron, he turned to face the young woman.

“What’s got you down, Ahiru?” Not like he couldn’t figure it out on his own, but he thought maybe talking about it would help her.

Her emotive eyes flicked up at him. “Wha—I…” She puckered her lips and rolled a frayed tablecloth hem between her fingers. “Nothing, really…”

“Oh, come on, now. You think I’m going to buy that?” Charon pulled out the chair across from her and sat down.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t worry you. I’m just bored, honest.” She suddenly straightened, her eyes wide, and began broadly gesticulating. “Not that living here is boring, nonono! Not at all! I just mean I’ve finished my chores and I guess I could find new ones, yeah I shoul—”

Chuckling, Charon put up a hand to stop her. “It’s okay to be bored, and you do plenty around the house. But I doubt that’s what’s got you so down lately.”

Ahiru pouted and focused her attention back to the tablecloth.

Charon reached across the table and patted her hand reassuringly. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but just know I’m always here for you, okay?”

Ahiru gave him a small, appreciative smile. “Thanks.” And she meant it. Before, she had Pique and Lilie, and even though she loved them dearly they never actually _listened_ to her—not that she was overly forth coming with information, but even if she was, she doubted they’d have taken her seriously. The only person she really had to talk to was Fakir, which left her feeling awfully lonely when he was the source of her woes. She probably wouldn’t go to Charon with hurt feelings caused by Fakir—he was his father, after all—but, knowing that Charon _wanted_ to be there for her made her feel better, like she was less alone than she thought she was.

Fakir didn’t show up for dinner. Charon finally said it wasn’t worth waiting and poured them both a bowl of soup. In an attempt to cheer her up some, he gave Ahiru an extra big chunk of bread, knowing it was one of her favorite foods. Their meal was eaten mostly in silence, peppered with small talk primarily provided by Charon. He talked of work at the smithy, upcoming festivals, and how nice it was to see all the birds flocking to his house in the mornings. Ahiru responded pleasantly, but felt guilty at how his attempts to converse mostly fell flat.

Once Charon finished eating, he prepared a bowl for his son and set about cleaning the dishes and storing any leftovers. Ahiru finished not long after, thanked him for the meal, and dismissed herself to her room.

Upon hearing the distant sound of her bedroom door closing, Charon shook his head. “At this rate, Ahiru’s going to get married off to that pianist fellow who keeps coming ‘round here, and Fakir is going to die a lonely, bitter old man.” The blacksmith set the last clean dish out to dry and pulled the plug to drain his sink with a little more force than was necessary. “And it’ll be his own damn fault.”

Maybe he should have tried harder to find a wife and set an example for Fakir, but Charon never found someone who made him happy in such a way. Of course he was aware of Raetzel’s feelings for him, but she was a child and he never saw her as anything but. She was like a niece to him, and he appreciated the companionship and the example she provided for his son. Besides, Charon had his son to fill his heart—he had no need for romantic love. Far be it for him, an old bachelor himself, to force his son into a relationship, but he could tell how much Fakir cared for the girl. Fakir looked at Ahiru like he could do anything as long as she was by his side. It would be a shame for Fakir to lose what many never find.

Charon rubbed the back of his neck as he sat down in front of the bowl of stew he set out for Fakir. He would wait for him to come back.

* * *

 

Fakir wasn’t surprised to see Charon waiting for him when he got back home.

“So the prodigal son returns.”

Fakir ignored his father’s words. “You didn’t have to wait up.”

“I didn’t wait long.” Charon shrugged and slid the now cool bowl of stew towards his son. It had been just under an hour since he finished cleaning up.

“Sorry.” Fakir took his seat across from his father. Picking up his spoon, he slowly began to eat.

Charon dragged his hand down his face with a groan. “Why do you keep doing this?”

The younger man didn’t respond.

“She’s been miserable for weeks now.”

“I know,” Fakir admitted.

Charon leaned back, exasperation written plainly across his face. “ _Mein Gott_! It’s like you’re trying to get her to go running into that Otmar guy’s arms!”

“It’s Autor,” Fakir corrected.

His father sent him a look, clearly unimpressed and uncaring what her other suitor’s name was.

Fakir set his spoon in his bowl and looked away. “I told you before, she doesn’t see them hanging out as a date. She just wants to make friends. Besides, you’re assuming _I’m_ trying to court her. I’m not.”

A grayed eyebrow arched. “So you’re not jealous. At all.”

Fakir scoffed. “Of Autor? Hardly. He’ll get tired of her eventually and give up.”

“What if he doesn’t? Ignoring her is only going to make her go to him more. I just don’t get you boy, you’re so hot and cold with the poor girl, it’s a wonder she still wants to be around you.”

“I know. I’m just… trying to figure things out.” Fakir took another bite of his cold stew, ruminating as he chewed on a chunk of meat. “I’ll make it up to her. I’m sorry it’s affected you.”

Charon crossed his arms on the table. “I just want to see you happy, Fakir. I see how happy she makes you.”

“You’re reading too much into it.” Fakir picked up his bowl and drank the remaining broth. He didn’t want Charon thinking he was admitting to having feelings for Ahiru. “I owe her a lot, that doesn’t mean I’m romantically interested.”

The older man stood up. “Right.” He stretched and began walking out of the kitchen. “Well, I’m going to bed for the night. Make sure you do your dishes before you turn in.”

Fakir listened as his father walked up the stairs and to his bedroom, exhaling once he heard his bedroom door close. It was a long day and he was exhausted. Dealing with Autor was enough, he didn’t need Charon chiding him as well. Obediently, he washed his dishes before heading upstairs himself.

* * *

 

“Hey, Fakir!” Ahiru’s chirp-like voice called out to him. He squinted, trying to adjust his eyes to the blinding light. “No, over here, silly!”

Fakir turned toward her voice, his eyes gradually adapting to his surroundings.

There she sat on a yellow plaid blanket at the bank of their lake, the bright sunlight the only contender to her beaming smile. She wore a strapless baby blue sundress which enhanced her shining cerulean eyes. Her hair was tied up in a braided bun, keeping it off of her bare shoulders.

His heart leapt.

“Well? Sit down, you weirdo!” She patted the empty space next to her, and he willingly obliged.

She scrunched up her face at him. “You’re acting funny.”

Fakir stared at her a moment before shrugging and looking out at the lake. “Don’t be stupid, idiot.”

Ahiru giggled and pulled a picnic basket out from behind her. “Glad to see you’re in a good mood.” She rummaged around in the basket for a moment before procuring two glasses. “I wanted to thank you. You know, for being there for me.” She pulled out a bottle and began filling the glasses with a deep red liquid.

‘Is that wine?’ Fakir stared in confusion, barely processing what she was saying.

“I know I can be difficult. Not to mention I’m always hiding things from you. I’m so lucky you trust me anyway.” She picked up one of the glasses and held it out to him.

He mindlessly accepted the glass from her, struggling to take his eyes off her face. Finally, he forced his eyes away from her glowing visage and regarded the glass in his hand.

“I really do love you, Fakir.”

It wasn’t wine.

“Isn’t that what you want to hear, Fakir?”

It was blood.

Fakir dropped the glass in horror.

“It is, isn’t it?” Ahiru’s voice was devoid of her normal emotion.

His heart stopped when he looked back at her. Gone was his beautiful, kind Ahiru, and in her place was Princess Tutu.

But it wasn’t quite Princess Tutu—at least, not the Princess Tutu he knew. Her eyes were empty and outlined in a sharp, black lines—reminiscent of the black mask a swan’s feathers form around its eyes. Gone were the soft pink, warm yellow, and comforting blue hues that made up her outfit. Everything was an emotionless white or silver, save for the normally blue coils that bobbed from her wings and her pointe slippers; both of which were an aggressive black, which seemed to zap the color from around them.

“Ahiru?”

She laughed mirthlessly. “Ahiru? Ahiru is dead.” Princess Tutu cocked her head, and the movement struck Fakir as unnatural. “You killed her, remember?”

Fakir shook his head as he backed away from the prima ballerina, using his arms and legs to propel him backwards. “No!”

Her movements were jerky, discomfortingly so. “Yes. You killed her. You told her you’d protect her and you killed her.”

He found himself petrified, unable to move, unable to run from her accusations.

Eerie laughter thundered in the distance.

* * *

 

“Drosselmeyer!” Fakir exclaimed, waking with a start. His thoughts were reeling from his recent night terror; his body was drenched in a cold sweat and quivered with emotion.

Moments passed before his breaths slowed and his mind calmed. He clutched at his forehead, willing himself to focus on how irritatingly his hair stuck to his slick neck, or how uncomfortably his nightclothes had twisted around his body. Anything but how peculiarly that not-Tutu moved, or how empty her eyes looked, or how accusatory her words were. Anything but how devastated he felt when he realized Ahiru was gone, and it was his fault.

With a shuddering gasp, he tried to smooth his bangs back from his wet face. It had seemed so real. He forced the thoughts from his head, ignoring the flash of black-outlined eyes in the back of his mind. It was just a nightmare. Everything was okay. He was going on a walk with Ahiru tonight. Things would go back to normal. He would forget the dream ever happened.

Another moment passed before he found the will to get out of bed. A long shower seemed to be in order. He gathered his things and headed to the bathroom. He wasn’t going to acknowledge the image of that heartless Princess Tutu seared into his brain.

* * *

 

Ahiru’s tongue poked out of the corner of her mouth, clearly deep in concentration. On her cheek was a smear of batter, and some flour dusted her hair. Ever the go-getter, she was determined to get Fakir to actually talk to her this morning, and she decided making him pancakes was her ticket.

‘He did promise to go on a walk with me today!’ She thought gleefully as she tried to slice an apple.

Upon her behest, Charon had kindly set out all the ingredients she needed to make pancakes with simple instructions. Dry ingredients were premeasured and all she really needed to do was add the right amount of the wet ingredients. It shouldn’t be too hard, even at her cooking skill. She decided to bake apple slices into the pancakes, which, maybe, she shouldn’t have. She was unable to get a consistently thin slice no matter how she tried, and somehow her batter ended up too thick. The pancakes either fell apart when she flipped them or burned on the bottom.

By the time Fakir woke up, there was a downright mess on a plate waiting for him. Smeared with even more batter than before, Ahiru grinned up at him.

“Morning Fakir!” She set a cup of the leftover buttermilk next to the plate.

Fakir eyed the disjointed confections wearily. “What’s… this?”

“I made you pancakes!” Handing him a napkin, she urged him to sit. “I promise they taste better than they look. I know I made them a little thick, and the apple is a bit wonky, but they taste fine! Really! Have some!”

The young man took a seat and picked up his knife and fork, glancing only briefly at the girl now situated across from him, staring with expectant eyes. He exhaled before taking a small bite. It wasn’t horrible: a bit chewy, some bits were burnt, and the apple was sliced too thickly, but it wasn’t horrible. Certainly, it wasn’t as inedible as her cooking has been in the past.

“Well?”

Fakir smiled at her. “Not bad.”

A broad smile tore across her face. “Really?! Oh, I’m so glad. I really wanted you to like them!” She watched him eat for a few moments before continuing. “Sooo… we’re still going to go on a walk tonight, right?”

He nodded. “I told you we would, after I get back from the smithy.” He took a swig of the milk, trying not to make a face. Buttermilk was not his favorite.

“Do you wanna go to the lake? It’s been a while since we’ve gone!”

Fakir blanched, an image of Ahiru sitting on a yellow plaid picnic blanket flashing in his mind’s eye. “No! Uh… no, why don’t we walk around… the uhm, local district? We usually walk around town.”

“Okay!” If she noticed his balking, she didn’t acknowledge it.

“And,” he hesitated, “I’m… sorry. I’ve had a lot on my mind the past few weeks. I didn’t mean to make you feel…” Unsure of what word to use, he faded off.

The girl shook her head, “It’s okay.” She puffed up her cheeks and made a face at him “As long as you don’t do it again, you jerk.” Relief flooded her body.

Smiling thankfully, he worked on finishing the rest of his… meal. “Dually noted.”

“When do you have to go help Charon, anyway?”

Fakir took one last bite and looked at the clock. “Right about now, actually. I’ll see you when I get back.”

“Yup! I’ll be here, waiting!” She waved him off. Well, it was a start.

Ahiru happily set about doing her morning chores, which took a bit longer than usual since she also had to clean up the inevitably huge mess she made in the kitchen trying to make pancakes. At least Fakir seemed to like them.

Around noon, she was just about finished when she heard a knock at the door. She hesitated before answering it; this was the first time anyone came to the house when she was home alone. Putting on a brave face, she cracked the door open, revealing a familiar face.

“Autor!” Ahiru opened the door the rest of the way and greeted him.

The pianist inclined his head slightly. “I’m glad you’re at home. I have something for you.”

“Eh?!”

Autor cocked his head expectantly before gesturing past her. “May I come in?”

Uncertain, Ahiru glanced over her shoulder. “Well… I uh…” Charon never said she wasn’t allowed to have guests, but he hasn’t said she was allowed, either. Was it really such a great idea to have someone over when neither he nor Fakir were there? She glanced back at his face. It probably wouldn’t hurt, at least they knew him. She stepped aside. “Okay, sure.”

Autor followed Ahiru back to the kitchen where she motioned towards the table. “Pick a seat, I guess. I can uhm… get you a… drink…?” She had never entertained before and was desperately trying to recall what Fakir and Charon did whenever they had visitors.

“Coffee, please.” The purple haired man sat down.

“Coming right up!” Ahiru exclaimed, dashing to the stove. Charon had recently taught her to make coffee—another ploy to get Fakir to talk to her which she attempted yesterday morning. At least he requested something she knew how to make!

While her back was to him, he cleaned his glasses. “I take it black, by the way.”

Nodding, she put a pot of water on to boil. “So does Fakir!” She skipped back to the table and took the seat across from him.

“Here.” Autor held out a white envelope.

The girl blinked before taking it from him. “What’s this?”

“You know, you could open it instead of asking.”

She shot him a look before flipping open the back flap.

Before she could even take the contents out, Autor began, “Kinkan Academy’s ballet department is having their annual performance, and they’ve asked me to provide the piano accompaniment—since I _am_ the academy’s most accomplished piano alumnus.” He paused before adding, “That’s still _living_ , anyway.”

“Oh!” Ahiru finally pulled the invitation out of the envelope and glossed over it.

“I was given some free tickets and thought you would like to go, since you expressed interest in listening to my work again.”

Ahiru stared at the paper before her, drawn in by the neat calligraphy. With her eyes, she traced the words ‘Kinkan Academy’s Ballet Department.’

“Fakir is welcome to come as well, since I have an extra ticket. Though, I doubt he’d want to come since he hasn’t expressed any interest in returning since he graduated himself.” Autor pushed his glasses back with an index finger. “You _probably_ didn’t know, but Fakir is an alumnus of the ballet department. Strange, since he doesn’t _do_ anything with it.”

Mindlessly, she nodded. “Yeah, I know…” She looked up at him and smiled. “Thanks! When is it?”

The pianist rolled his eyes in response, “Honestly, it’s right there in your hands.” He couldn’t help but smile fondly back at her. Somehow, idiosyncrasies that would’ve driven him insane if it were someone else were endearing from her. “It’s two weeks from Friday.”

Ahiru stuck her tongue out at him and glanced over the invitation again. “We should be able to make it—well, I should check with Fakir first, huh?”

“The water’s boiling.”

“Huh?” She stared at him, confused by the sudden topic change.

He turned his head toward the pot on the oven.

“Oh! OH!” Jumping up, she rushed to the stovetop. Careful with her measurements, she poured the grounds into the pot. While stirring the water, she turned her body toward him. “This is the third time I’ve made coffee, so hopefully it tastes alright.”

Autor chuckled. “Not much of a homemaker, are you?”

Her cheeks puffed up indignantly. “So what?”

The man shrugged, still laughing. “It doesn’t surprise me. It’s rather… typical of you.”

She glared at him and turned back towards the stove. “Well, maybe _you_ should be making _me_ coffee.”

“I can. We could make a date of it.”

Though he couldn’t see, she scrunched her face up at the mere thought of it. “I hate coffee. Too bitter.”

“You _can_ add sugar and cream, you know.”

“Still.” She set her ladle down on the spoon rest and killed the flame. “There that should do it.”

His brown eyes followed her lithe form as she went between cabinets grabbing a saucer and a cup. “Well, it doesn’t have to be a coffee date, it can be another kind of date.”

“Wha—Ooh!” Hissing in pain, she dropped the coffee cup when she accidentally poured the hot liquid over her thumb. “Ouch, ouch!”

Autor was next to her in seconds. “You shouldn’t have poured it so soon, it’s too hot, and the grounds need to settle, anyway.” He gently took her hand in his, inspecting it. “Where’s the ice?”

She pulled her hand back and shook her head. “Don’t worry about it, just a day in the life of a klutz.” Pouting, she nursed her hand with her other hand. “You can sit down, I’ll take care of it.”

Autor sighed as she walked past him to get a cold compress. He bent over and picked up the miraculously unbroken cup. “You should be more careful, you know.”

“Heh, yeah!” She called from across the room. “I sorta made Fakir spill his coffee yesterday morning, too. I guess me and coffee don’t get along at all.”

He used a nearby towel to mop up the little that had spilled.

“I’ll take that.” Ahiru carefully took the kitchen towel with her uninjured hand. The other hand was wrapped in a clean towel.  

Autor sat back down and watched as Ahiru discarded the dirty towel in a basket and went about ladling another cup of coffee for him; hopefully the grounds had long enough to settle.

She gave him the cup and saucer and reclaimed her seat. “So. Tell me about this year’s ballet.”

* * *

 

“You what?” Fakir’s voice was terse. He should be used to Ahiru injuring herself by now, but it never sat well with him—especially when he wasn’t with her to do anything about it. He glared up at her, his head bent over her hand which was gingerly cupped in his.

She fidgeted under Fakir’s gaze. “Burnt myself making coffee…?”

He raised an eyebrow. There was more to that sentence the first time she said it.

“… for Autor?” Ahiru added tentatively.

The knight groaned. “Why were you making him coffee?”

“Well, he wanted to come in and I didn’t know what to give him and he asked f—”

“He was _here_?”

“Uhm, well, we never discussed if I was allowed to have guests and I didn’t want to be rude but I figured maybe he was your friend, too, so it was probably okay, but maybe I shouldn’t have assumed…”

Fakir sighed and let go of her hand. There was nothing more he could do to assist its healing. As often as she gets injured, it wasn’t surprising she was pretty good at dressing wounds. “You can have guests over. It’s just—never mind.” He started heading upstairs. “What did he want?”

Ahiru jogged to catch up with him. “He wanted to invite us to the upcoming ballet at Kinkan! He’s going to be playing piano in the orchestra. We’re going to go, right?”

She seemed pretty excited. Fakir wondered how long that would last when she realized that her old friends would be in the ballet. He really didn’t want her to have to face that alone. And he really didn’t want her alone with Autor for another one of his concerts. “Alright.”

“Really?!”

“Do you want me to change my mind?”

Shaking her head vigorously, the duck-girl made a face at him. “No! I wanna go.”

He chuckled and went to get ready for their walk. “Give me a few moments and we can head out.”

“’Kay!” She chirped.

By the time they got outside the sky was already dark, but the stars were shining brightly. Their walk would be short, as Charon had already started cooking their late supper. Regardless, the two were in high spirits and their laughs rang in the air around them. Whatever was making Fakir avoid her was clearly not bothering him anymore, and Ahiru felt at ease. She nudged his side with her elbow, grinning up at him when he looked down at her.

Everything was going to be alright, she decided.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're one-third through the story at this point! Since this chapter mostly follows Fakir, it's a heavier-text chapter, as he is a heavier-text kind of guy.
> 
> Shout-out to my fiance who always says "Do you want me to change my mind?" whenever I say "Really?!" You're a jerk.
> 
> But really, thank you everyone for your continued support. You keep me inspired! And, please, if you see any grammar issues or typos, let me know!


	9. Nevermore

_Once upon a time there was a prince who dreamt of a beautiful bird. In his dreams, the bird sang to him and gave him hope. One day, the bird appeared before him while he was awake. Certain the bird felt for him what he felt for her, he captured the bird and brought her to his kingdom. Overtime, the bird’s beautiful plumage molted and lost its color. Eventually, the bird simply disappeared. Not even in his dreams did the prince see her—for she was never his to take._

“You know,” Ahiru cooed to a flock of birds settled around her window, “tomorrow is the day I’m going to see the ballet!”

Only a handful of her feathered companions paid her any mind as they pecked at the selection of birdseed she had set out.

She sighed dreamily as she imagined what kind of sets the ballet would have and what the costumes would look like. “Autor said it was called _The Firebird_. I bet there’ll be lots of bright red and yellow…” She giggled and rested her cheek on the palm of her hand, watching the birds hop around her window ceil. “I bet if Rue were here, she’d play the firebird! She always did look pretty in fiery colors!”

A small brown bird chirped and bounced over to her, cocking its head side to side as if it were trying to understand her. With a smile, Ahiru offered it her finger, which it pecked at once before happily perching upon it.

“So you agree Rue would be the firebird?”

The bird tweeted gleefully in response.

Ahiru giggled again. “Of course you do! Rue was the best at ballet.”

Chirping again, the bird ruffled its feathers briefly before taking off from her finger.

Ahiru waved after it, calling, “Come again tomorrow, and bring your friends!”

Sliding back into her window seat, she regarded the thinning flock still with her. Ever since Charon made a bird feeder to hang off the gutter above her window, she’s seen far more birds than usual.

“I used to dance,” she admitted quietly to the remaining ones. “Not well, really, but I did dance…” She absentmindedly rubbed at the gem around her neck. “I guess I can still dance now, but I’ll never be able to go back to the academy. And I’ll probably never get much better—at least… not before… my year is up.”

Suddenly, all the remaining birds took off, leaving behind a mess of down and scattered seed.

Surprised, Ahiru dropped her pendant and looked around outside her window. “Something must have spooked them…” she muttered, not noticing her gem turning from gray to white.

Figuring that her avian friends were done eating for the morning, she wiped all the shed down out the window and cleaned up the spilled seed. After she was satisfied with her job, she pulled the window shut. It was time for her to start her day, anyway.

Padding over to her closet, Ahiru debated on what to wear for the day—and, more importantly, for tomorrow’s concert. In the past few months, she was able to broaden her clothes collection and now had a decent sizable wardrobe. Most notably, Raetzel had sent a box of clothes she never wore anymore after her visit. Choice in clothes wasn’t something Ahiru was used to, but she decided she liked it—even if it now took her longer to decide on what to wear. She finally decided on a simple pastel blue shirt and a pair of white shorts. Tomorrow, though, she would wear something much nicer. She fingered the soft fabric of a black dress Raetzel had sent her. It wasn’t as colorful as Ahiru tended to prefer, but it was by far the nicest thing she now owned.

After quickly brushing and braiding her hair, Ahiru went about her morning routine. Despite her barely contained excitement for tomorrow’s performance, Ahiru also had important plans for today that were making her anxious. Naturally, this rendered her a bit more clumsy than usual—not that a few spilt wash buckets ever slowed her down before.

The past couple of days or so, she decided to be a bit more proactive. Taking a page from Fakir’s book, almost quite literally, she took to researching. Thinking back on her deal with Drosselmeyer, she concluded she didn’t regret the deal she made. The crazy dead man might have been malicious, and he may not always make sense, but this time Ahiru knew in her heart of hearts that she agreed. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life as a duck. She wanted to connect with humans in a way animals simply couldn’t. She wanted to have conversations and laugh and be understood. Even just one year of being able to do that was worth lifetimes of floating on that pond. If she did die after her time was up, she would be thankful for the time she had. Her only regret would be any potential pain she causes for Fakir and Charon. Regardless, that didn’t mean she had to take it lying down.

Together, she and Fakir were able to change the story Drosselmeyer was spinning from beyond the grave. Rue and Mythos had their happy ending and the Raven was defeated. She knew it wasn’t impossible, that there was no harm in being just a little bit hopeful, but she also knew things were different this time around. Unlike the first time Ahiru accepted the offer to become Princess Tutu, she knew who Drosselmeyer was, she knew she was playing with fire, and she was doing it mostly for herself. Yes, it was the knowledge that she would be helping others that tipped the scale, but it would be a lie to claim she was only doing it for that reason. Ahiru was being selfish, and she knew that. This time, there couldn’t be a together. She knowingly chose to entangle herself in Drosselmeyer’s plots, she would not drag Fakir in with her.

One thing she did not know, however, is where to even start to look for answers on her own. Drosselmeyer said she would be removing misplaced feelings, and while she knew better than to trust his word, it seemed he was telling the truth. Whatever those “fragments” were, when they leave someone’s body, it appears to bring them ease. This did not bring _her_ ease, as she had no idea what these fragments were. Fragments of what? Last time she was Princess Tutu she at least knew the heart shards were pieces of Mythos’ heart.

So, the duck-girl started in the only place she could even fathom starting: the library. So many time she had watched Fakir pour over piles and piles of books at the library; it was the only place Ahiru could even think of looking. The only issue, of course, was that Fakir _always_ went to the library. With how often he’s there, Ahiru figured they ought to name a wing after him or something. Thinking herself rather clever, Ahiru waited until Charon had a big project coming up—one that would require Fakir to spend a lot of time helping him in the smithy. One that just so happened to keep Fakir busy for the past few days.

She snickered to herself as she quietly pushed the front door closed and locked it behind her. She couldn’t help but feel so sly as she snuck to Fakir’s favorite locale without him knowing. Sure, she could’ve stopped creeping along walls and darting around corners a few blocks from Charon’s house and smithy, but she found it much more enjoyable to continue until she was inside the library.

Okay, maybe she continued to tiptoe and slither even once she was inside.

The fun died quite quickly once she remembered what she was there to do, though. Already, she had thumbed through all the library’s Drosselmeyer works, despite the fact she knew Fakir probably read them each a hundred times over since she became a girl again. What did she expect to find that Fakir hadn’t already?

Ahiru shook her head and carried on through the fairytale section. She couldn’t give up now. Besides, she had information that Fakir didn’t.

She stopped.

“Fragments…?”

Furrowing her brow, Ahiru tried to remember if anything Drosselmeyer wrote had anything to do with fragments.

“No…” she decided after a moment of deliberating. “What even _are_ fragments?” She mumbled.

She hadn’t tried it yet, and it certainly couldn’t hurt.

Ambling over to the section which homed a shelf full of dictionaries, Ahiru tapped her chin in thought. After staring at the tomes for a brief moment, Ahiru picked the most modern looking one and brought it to a nearby table.

“Fragment… fragment…” she mumbled to herself as she thumbed through the pages.

“F-A… F-I… F-L… F-O… F-R-A…” she stopped once she reached the right section and read through the words, skimming the page with her finger.

“Fractionate… Fractious… no… Fragile… Fragility… Ah! Fragment!” Ahiru toyed with a wayward strand of hair as she read the definition softly to herself.

“A piece of something greater which has been broken or separated… to break or cause to break into smaller pieces… Humm…” She leaned back in her chair, still playing with her hair as she ruminated over the word.

With a sigh, she looked up at the ceiling and closed her eyes. “I don’t think that made anything that much clearer.” Her arms hung limply at her sides. “Would the library really be that much of help, anyway?” Maybe she had put too much faith in Fakir’s methods of research. He’d been working at it for months already.

_Rat tat tat_

Ahiru’s eye shot open and her brow furrowed.

_Tappa tat_

She turned her head towards where she thought the sound of… drumming? was coming from.

_Tap tappa tat_

“Uzura?” Ahiru questioned quietly as she slowly stood up from her chair. She glanced around to see if anyone else heard the sound. Through a gap in the stacks she could see a librarian sitting quietly at his desk, not at all reacting to the boisterous sound.

_Tip tiptip tat_

It sounded further away this time.

Ahiru pursed her lips and tried to follow the familiar rhythm.

_Tap tap tap tap_

It was growing louder, and more continuous. She must be heading in the right direction. “Uzura?” Ahiru asked again, a little louder this time.

Could it be Uzura? The drummer girl had disappeared without a trace around the same time Mythos and Rue had. Neither she nor Fakir had any clue what had happened to her. Had Uzura been hiding in Kinkan this entire time?

The drumming sounded like it was coming from right in front of her now, but the small girl was no where to be seen. Ahiru took another step, and suddenly the sound stopped.

“Huh? Uzura? Are you here?” Ahiru tried again. She had hoped she would see Uzura again someday—if for nothing else but to see she was okay. Ahiru waited a moment before sighing. Maybe she had been reading for too long and her ears were playing tricks on her. She idly wondered if Fakir ever had that problem.

Just in case, before turning to leave, Ahiru whispered, “Just be safe, Uzura.”

Feeling a little disappointed, Ahiru started walking back, wondering if she should call it quits for the day, when her eye caught the section name. She froze.

“Occult?” She stared at the word, turning it over in her mind. A sudden chill ran through her veins and she decided she had been in the library long enough. She could hardly rip her eyes away from the sign as she physically turned her body away. It was time to go home.

Her trip home was not even remotely as playful as her trip to the library.

 

* * *

 

Fakir met Ahiru’s eyes mid-bite; the juice from the apple dribbled down his chin. He heard the door open and close, but had expected Charon to be the one entering, not Ahiru. She looked distracted. He quickly chewed his apple and wiped the juice from his face.

Apparently, she didn’t expect him to be there either, as her face suddenly flushed red. “Ah-ahhh, Fakir! Haha, I was just uhm… Went for a walk and. Haha… Got lost?”

She was acting strangely, but Fakir didn’t feel like pressing it. His muscles ached from working with Charon the past few days and he was tired. “That sounds about right.”

“Heh…” She laughed awkwardly before biting her lip and entering the kitchen. “So, we’re still going to the ballet tomorrow, right?”

Fakir put down his apple core and placed his chin atop his hands. “That is the plan. Why?”

Ahiru smiled, stress draining from her as she sat across from him. “Just wanted to make sure. I’ve already picked out what I’m going to wear. I can’t wait!”

“So you’ve said,” Fakir responded, though the usual annoyance was absent from his tone. So far Ahiru hadn’t seemed to realize that her old friends and classmates would be in the ballet—maybe even in lead roles. Remembering the last time Ahiru had come across them, he worried it would affect her similarly. Regardless, it was nice to see her so excited. So excited to be going to see this ballet with _him_. Not that that part was important to him… at all.

Her wide eyes glittered as she rested her cheek in the palm of her hand and chewed on her bottom lip. Fakir was used to seeing that faraway look in her eyes while she daydreamed. Her eyes snapped back into focus and her smile widened. “We should go out to eat tomorrow before the concert, right?! That way it’ll be more special!”

Fakir could feel the heat burning in his face already, whatever he was expecting her to say, it wasn’t that. “I-uh… Sure. We can do that.”

“Hmm…” Ahiru tapped a finger on her cheek as she screwed her lips up in thought. “I guess Ebine is too far out of the way to go there…” She puffed up one of her cheeks in frustration.

“There’s a new restaurant closer to the school,” Fakir supplied, “we could go there.”

Her eyes lit up. “Perfect! I can’t wait! I wish it were tonight.” She puckered her lips impatiently.

Fakir couldn’t help but laugh at her antics. He hoped she stayed this cheery throughout tomorrow night; he hated seeing her upset.

“Have you decided what you’re going to wear?”

Fakir rolled his eyes, “No,” and didn’t even try to hide his amusement as she immediately began demanding he start thinking about it right away. It wouldn’t be long before the two decided to cook dinner together for Charon and laughed the night away.

Both went to bed with smiles on their faces.

 

* * *

 

The day seemed to drag on for Ahiru. She counted down every single hour and each one seemed to go slower than the one before it. Ten hours, nine hours, eight hours, seven hours, six hours… still six hours… five hours… still five hours…

She groaned and flopped back on her bed. She already fed the birds. Did all the laundry. Scrubbed the floors. Dusted the furniture. She even made herself a sandwich and cleaned up afterwards.

Fakir, seemingly unaffected by this horrible slow-time vortex, had left earlier to run some errands for Charon, so Ahiru couldn’t even go bother him for a few hours. She wished he could’ve waited for her to finish so she could’ve gone with him. Running errands probably made time go a relatively normal speed, at least compared to hanging out in her bedroom doing nothing.

Maybe more time had passed than she thought. Ahiru pushed herself back up and trotted down to the living room to glance at the clock.

Well, four hours was much better than five. She was pretty sure it had been five more hours for five hours.

Ahiru tapped a finger against her jawline. Did it take four hours to get ready? She could probably make it take four hours to get ready, right?

“Okay,” she announced to the empty household, “I’ll just take a long bath.”

With renewed hope, Ahiru bounded up the stairs and back to her room. She put extra care into combing out her hair and drew the water a little warmer than she usually did, hoping the steam would brighten her complexion.

Sighing as she lowered herself into the bath tub, she tried to ignore the unbridled excitement making her pulse race. “Calm,” she whispered as she let her body sink underwater. She exhaled again as she sat back up, the hot water dripping from her long hair and face. Maybe if she focused on getting _really_ clean, time would go a little bit faster.

By the time Ahiru was ready to get out, her skin was red from scrubbing so hard and the water had gone lukewarm. She pulled the plug before she stood, watching the water swirl around the drain for a moment. The bath had been relaxing, but now that it was over all she could think about was how much time had she managed to burn. Wrapping a towel around her hair, and another around her torso, Ahiru scrambled down the stairs to check the clock again.

Almost an hour had passed. Not quite her goal, but not bad. Almost three hours left. Maybe she would try doing a really elegant hairstyle. That would definitely take time—especially with how much she was bound to screw up and have to start over again.

Nodding to herself, Ahiru padded back up the stairs and to her room. She could definitely pull off getting ready for a little over three more hours.

 

* * *

 

Fakir tried to ignore the mounting anxiety as he sat on the worn couch in the living room, waiting for Ahiru.

It wasn’t a date or anything, and he definitely wasn’t building this up to be something greater than it was, but if they were going to have dinner before the ballet, they really needed to leave soon. That, and Fakir was tired of pretending not to notice the conceited grins Charon kept shooting at him from in the kitchen.

He shifted again. His dress pants were a bit stiff, probably because he rarely wore them, and it made it difficult to comfortably cross his legs.

Why was Ahiru taking so long? He was about to go pound on her door when he heard her ambling down the stairs.

“All ready!” Ahiru chirped as she half slid into the living room.

Fakir was suddenly glad he decided to just wear a vest rather than a jacket, as he could feel his face burning.

The black fabric of the knee-length dress she wore swayed around her legs, which were clad in canary-yellow stockings. Her hair was tied up in an elegant coiffure he was certain Raetzel had taught her. It wasn’t perfect, but the stray curls that had escaped managed to enhance the appeal. Her fingers played with the hems her sleeves, which reached just past the heels of her hands.

“Ah! You look nice!” Her freckled face had a pleasant flush and it was very difficult for him to pretend he wasn’t melting.

Hyper aware of Charon’s attention, Fakir forcibly swallowed and responded, “You, too.”

She grinned at him, rocking forward on her toes. “Ready to go?” A wayward curl bounced against her cheek and he tried really hard not to stare.

“Yeah, we’re running late. Let’s go.”

Charon stepped out of the kitchen behind him, drying his hands with a washcloth. “Now just hold on a moment.”

Fakir held back a groan as he looked back at his adoptive father, bracing himself for whatever ridiculousness the man would undoubtedly spout.

Charon wagged a joking finger at Fakir, “You make sure you bring her home at a reasonable hour, young man.”

“Charon,” Fakir didn’t have the patience to deal with the older man’s shenanigans. Not tonight.

Charon chuckled and patted Ahiru on the shoulder, “I’m just kidding! You two have fun!”

Ahiru beamed up at the older man. “We will! And make sure you have a nice, relaxing evening!”

Charon squeezed her shoulder before heading back into the kitchen. “Don’t worry, I will. Be safe, now.”

“We will!” she repeated herself and skipped towards the door. She opened it and gestured past it, “After you, _monsieur_.”

Fakir rolled his eyes and walked passed her, “Dork.”

Closing the door behind her, Ahiru scurried to be by his side. She stuck her tongue out at him. “Jerk!”

He laughed at this. Even dressed to the nines, her adorable idiosyncrasies still shone through. He offered her his arm with a crooked smile, “ _Mademoiselle_.”

Ahiru blinked in surprise and stared at his arm for a moment before settling her hand in the crook of his elbow. “Nerd,” she shot back good-naturedly.

Their walk to the restaurant was pleasant. Fakir listened to Ahiru effuse about _The Firebird_ , and he totally wasn’t admiring the way her eyes shone with passion in the streetlights.

The restaurant was charming and specialized in French cuisine. Fakir felt a bit overdressed for the venue, but Ahiru didn’t seem to notice in the least. She cooed over the gaudy rococo tables and chairs as she sat down.

“Too bad this wasn’t here when we went to the academy!” Ahiru mused as she picked up the menu. Again, she found herself overwhelmed by the menu, marveling over how many dishes there were that she had never heard of.

It wasn’t long before the waiter arrived, filled their glasses with water, and asked if they were ready to order.

Ahiru, happy to have found something that at least sounded familiar, excitedly ordered herself a savory crêpe with potatoes, mushrooms, and _gruyère_. Fakir ordered the _hachis parmenteir_. The waiter took down their orders and hurried back to the kitchen.

Leaning forward conspiratorially, Ahiru grinned. “I noticed a dessert section on the menu. Want to share a _crème brûlée_?”

Finding it difficult to say no to her, even though his face flushed in memory of the last time they went out to eat together, he consented.

She leaned back, her eyes glittering triumphantly. “Yay! I’ll tell the waiter next time he comes back!”

Damn her cute little nose and how it crinkled when she smiled.

“Is there something on my face?” Ahiru cocked her head to the side.

Shit, he’d been staring.

“What? No. I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Ahiru screwed her lips up. He was probably thinking about the gem around her neck again. She absentmindedly toyed with the aforementioned stone as she rested her chin on the palm of her hand.

Fakir, eager to change the subject, began, “You know _The Firebird_ is based off of old Russian folklore.”

That got her attention. “Yeah?”

“It follows the story of Prince Ivan, who falls in love with a princess captured by an evil sorcerer.”

“Why is it called _The Firebird_ , then?” Ahiru’s light-blue eyes were wide with curiosity.

Fakir took a sip of his water before responding. “The firebird helps him.”

“Hmm…” Ahiru was considering this when the waiter came back with their food.

“Will that be all for you?” he asked.

Ahiru looked up at the man with a smile, “We’d like to share a _crème brûlée_ , please!”

“Excellent!” the waiter nodded before disappearing again.

“Oh! This smells delicious!” Ahiru immediately picked up her fork and knife and began cutting into her crêpe. She chewed it excitedly and barely swallowed her food before Ahiru quickly cut off another bite and jabbed it out at Fakir. “It’s amazing! Try it!”

Fakir knew this would happen, he had been steeling himself for her inevitable naïveté, but somehow, he found himself woefully unprepared. ‘Get yourself together,’ he mentally reprimanded himself before leaning forward and taking the bite.

“Good, yeah?” Ahiru didn’t wait for him to respond before going back for more.

It was good, but he had a hard time focusing on the flavor with his nerves going haywire. He swallowed. “Yeah, it is.”

“Howf yorwf?” Ahiru asked through a mouthful.

He steeled himself. He could do this. He offered her a forkful of potatoes and diced beef. “Try it.” He could’ve died watching her happily take his food from his fork. He really needed to stop taking her to restaurants.

 “Mmm!” She exclaimed, “That’s super yummy!”

‘This is not a date,’ he reaffirmed in his head as he eyed the crinkle in her nose again. ‘We are just friends sharing their food before going to a ballet.’

Ahiru, true to her nature, ate her food rather quickly, and Fakir was surprised he had done the same. Apparently shoveling food in his mouth was a great way to ignore the rampant thoughts galloping through his mind.

“Your _crème brûlée_ ,” the waiter announced as he set a ramekin and two spoons between them. He took the two empty plates before leaving.

Ahiru regarded the dessert with curiosity. She actually had no idea what she had ordered as a dessert. She had heard the name before and since it was the only name she recognized, figured it was probably good. She was surprised when she inserted her spoon and was met with resistance.

Fakir chuckled, “You have to crack it.”

“Huh?” She looked up at him and he made a small smacking motion with a spoon. “Oh!” She deftly smacked her spoon against the caramelized crust and grinned when it made a satisfying cracking sound.

And that’s when Ahiru learned she was not a fan of custard.

Fakir couldn’t help but laugh at the disgusted face she made as she tried to finish the heaping spoonful she helped herself to. “Idiot, you ordered something you didn’t like?”

Ahiru forced herself to swallow wincing at the awful texture and took a huge gulp of water before she could respond. “I didn’t know!” She frowned. “I just recognized the name! Plus, it’s fun to say ‘ _crème brûlée_ ,’ who would’ve thought it was so gross!”

Fakir took a spoonful; it was actually pretty good. He’d only had _crème brûlée_ a handful of times in his life, so he really didn’t have a standard for it, but it definitely wasn’t “gross.”

Ahiru made a face and pushed the ramekin towards him. “If you like it, you can finish it.”

Fakir rolled his eyes and picked up the ramekin. At least it wasn’t a very big _crème brûlée_.

 

* * *

 

The pair was able to arrive right on time for the ballet. Other attendees were milling about the foyer and some students were handing out programs. Ahiru accepted hers with barely contained excitement and she immediately began scanning the performers.

“Oh! Femio is in this!”

“Femio?” Fakir narrowed his eyes as he looked at the program over her shoulder.

“As Kos… cheese…” Ahiru squinted at the unfamiliar name.

“Koschei,” Fakir corrected. “He’s the sorcerer I was telling you about.”

“Oh!” Ahiru looked back at the program, “Ooh! Freya is going to be the firebird! I can’t wait to see her perform!”

Fakir gave her a half smile. So far so good. The two names she mentioned weren’t exactly her best friends before, but she seemed happy so far.

“Humm… I don’t recognize a bunch of these names…” Ahiru mumbled as she continued to read the names. “Hermia is playing the princess that Prince Ivan falls for, and oh! it—” She got suddenly quiet for a moment, and Fakir had a feeling she got to the roles her previously close friends were performing.

“Ahiru…”

She jerked her face towards him and grinned, perhaps a little too widely, “Look, there are _multiple_ princesses, and Pique and Lilie are both playing one.” She quickly looked back down at the program, and Fakir studied her.

Her eyes landed on the extras. There was Lory’s name. She gave a small smile at that, ‘That’s where I would’ve been, too,’ she thought ruefully.

The lights dimmed and came back on, causing Ahiru to look up.

“Come on,” Fakir gently took her elbow, “the show is starting.”

Ahiru gripped the program in her hands as Fakir led her to the entrance. He handed an usher their tickets, who lead them to their seats. “Thank you for supporting the students of Kinkan Academy. Please enjoy the show.”

Ahiru settled in her seat, nibbling her lip. Why did she feel so weird?

“Fakir!” A shrill voice from their right shook Ahiru from her thoughts. “I knew it was you!” The voice belonged to another student Ahiru vaguely remembered seeing around campus before who was seated a few seats away from them.

Fakir looked annoyed, and Ahiru couldn’t help but snigger, “I see you’re still popular, even after you graduated!”

“Shut up,” Fakir grumbled.

The girl got up and came over, her friend she presumably came with following after her. “I’m so glad to see you still support the ballet department—though it suffered after _you_ left, Fakir!”

“I hardly think that’s the case,” Fakir deflected her comment.

Not at all perturbed by Fakir’s coarseness, she started again, “Oh, no, it’s true!”

“Definitely!” Her friend agreed from behind her.

“And we ar—” she stopped short when her eyes landed on Ahiru. Her smile grew tight. “Who’s this?”

“That’s none of your business.” Fakir had hoped graduating would have put an end to the self proclaimed “Fakir Girls,” but apparently not. He didn’t even know this girl’s name.

Ahiru laughed, “Don’t mind him, he’s always grumpy.” She offered out her hand, “My name’s Ahiru. I’m Fakir’s friend.”

“Friend.” The girl repeated, letting a moment pass before she shook Ahiru’s hand—too tightly to be considered polite, Ahiru noted. The lights dimmed again, and the girl drew back. “Well, show’s starting! Hope you enjoy it, Fakir!”

Ahiru grinned cheekily at Fakir, who was looking a lot like the Fakir he was when she first met him.

“The ballet’s starting.” He cut her off before she could even say anything. She giggled again and leaned back in her seat.

The lights brightened on the stage, revealing a dark, twisting backdrop and Femio, dressed in a black costume with silver boning on his ribs and legs, posed dramatically in the middle. Surrounding him were other _danseurs_ dressed similarly, but with less flair. The music began with the low rumble of the strings and brass. Ahiru mused that the strange movements of Koschei’s dance was fitting of Femio’s unorthodox dance aesthetic.

When the lights dimmed and revealed Freya, dressed in a fiery red tutu bedecked with many brilliant orange, yellow, and red feathers, Ahiru gasped. She was beautiful. Her movements were light and graceful, reminiscent of a bird. Her bright red and orange eyeshadow glimmered in the spotlight, and Ahiru couldn’t hold back a grin at the red flowers tucked into her pale blonde hair.

Ahiru was almost outraged when the student playing Prince Ivan caught her. Something so beautiful should never be hunted, much less captured. She was relieved to see he let her go, and amazed when Freya twirled and elegantly procured a feather from her tutu. Ahiru was disappointed to see her prance off stage as the music changed and Femio and his cohorts returned.

She wasn’t sure if the role of Koschei was supposed to be so egotistical, or if Femio’s natural vanity was pouring into the role. Either way, she was amazed at how much his execution had improved.

Her breath hitched when the Koschei summoned his bewitched princesses and they danced on stage. Each one poised and perfectly synchronized with the others. There they were. Pique and Lilie. Dressed in light, flowing skirts, and glittering crowns. Both of them, like the other princesses, sported a single braid which draped over their shoulders.

Ahiru watched as they danced gracefully, barely even noticing when Hermia entered, _pas marché_. They had spent so much time together, trying to learn how to dance properly, and here they were, dancing _en pointe_ as if it were the easiest thing.

‘Their lives went on…’ She thought sadly.

While she was stuck on that pond, swimming and waiting for Fakir to show up, everyone’s lives went on. They made new friends. They learned new skills. They grew up. They matured. And she was _there_. She was stuck in a purgatory parading as a small body of water.

Her thoughts halted when Fakir squeezed her hand. Through the dark, she could see an empathetic smile on his lips. She smiled back and returned her attention to the dancers.

Because that was exactly why she didn’t regret her choice. She’d rather die tomorrow than spend another year on that damn pond. She lost enough friends. Ahiru wasn’t going to let the remainder of her year go to waste.

Ahiru watched as Hermia and Prince Ivan ended their dance, the other princesses scattering off stage with a hurried elegance before Hermia followed. The student performing Prince Ivan’s part was actually quite good, Ahiru decided, her eyes following his precise form. She thought he looked familiar; maybe he was one of the male students from the advanced class when she attended Kinkan Academy? He performed well. And his eventual showdown with Femio’s Koschei really showcased his skill.

But it was Freya’s firebird that really stole the show—which, Ahiru supposed, was probably to be expected of the titular character. The dance where she enchanted Koschei’s minions was, well, enchanting. She grinned as the firebird helped Prince Ivan defeat the evil sorcerer and saved the princesses and guards from their enchanted slumber. As soon as the curtain call began, Ahiru stood and applauded. All the dancers had worked so hard, how could she not give them a standing ovation?

She beamed up at Fakir when he shortly after followed suit.

After the four main performers took their last _révérence_ the curtains slowly descended upon the stage, hiding the undoubtedly exhausted dancers.

“That was amazing!” Ahiru gushed, turning toward Fakir. “Freya was absolutely gorgeous! All the costumes were really well done, honestly! And did you see Femio! I can’t believe he’s gotten so much better! And—”

Fakir nodded along in amusement. He wasn’t surprised she was so animated after the performance, and even he had to admit the students had done a great job. He was just grateful Ahiru had recovered from her brief episode of grief. It went much better than he had expected—though he wasn’t quite sure what exactly he did expect.

“Did you see that one dance? Freya did like twenty pirouettes in a row! And the minions’ dance was so fun and lively!”

“Did you notice the music at all?” Fakir couldn’t help but ask. It seemed like Ahiru had forgotten she came there on Autor’s invitation, and Fakir wasn’t above admitting that pleased him a little bit.

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked down, studying her forefingers which she was now pressing together sheepishly. “I mean… I _heard_ it, but I’m not very good at figuring out which instrument is which?”

He didn’t bother covering up his chuckle as he nudged her toward the aisle, “Come on, moron.”

She laughed awkwardly, glad she knew Fakir wouldn’t say anything to Autor about her little slip up. It wasn’t that she didn’t like music, she was just not really in the know-how of identifying music. She thought the music for the ballet was very nice and complemented the choreography quite well, but she definitely couldn’t say which parts were produced by a piano.

It was a tad warm in the foyer, as the audience and now the cast and crew members were all piled into the area. Families and friends fought to congratulate their loved ones while others stayed further back, chatting with their companions about what they enjoyed. Cocktail tables had been set up during the ballet, and some students were manning a bar.

“Ah, there you are.” Autor’s unmistakable voice caught Ahiru’s attention. He approached the pair with smirk. “Did you enjoy the production, Ahiru?”

Of course he didn’t even bother complimenting Ahiru’s appearance before seeking her praise, Fakir noted in irritation.

Her eyes lit up as she began to dive into an explanation of all her favorite parts. Autor nodded good naturedly, but Fakir could tell he was waiting for his plaudits.

Finally, Ahiru enthused, “and the music was just _sooooo_ good! You could really tell the dancers’ energy was stoked because of how great it was!”

Autor’s smirk grew, “Well, it is the backbone of every production.”

Ahiru shot him a toothy smile, and he placed a hand on the small of her back, gesturing with his free hand. “Why don’t we find a table so we can chat some more?”

Fakir gritted his teeth as he followed behind the two, watching Autor like a hawk.

Reaching an empty cocktail table, Autor removed his hand from Ahiru’s person, much to Fakir’s relief.

“You know Stravinsky was not only a composer, but he was also a pianist, so it comes as no surprise that the part of the piano is so integral to the composition,” Autor mused.

Ahiru nodded, her eyes wide, and Fakir could tell she was only half taking in what Autor was saying to her.

“It’s a shame they chose to do _The Firebird_ instead of _The Rite of Spring_ , though. The orchestral score is much more profound and groundbreaking.”

“I liked _The Firebird_ ,” Ahiru piped up, “I thought the ballerinas and _danseurs_ looked like they really enjoyed the piece.”

“Yes, yes,” Autor dismissed her comment with a wave of his hand, “The ballet was quite well done; it’s just a shame they chose the lesser of the three ballets commissioned from him.”

Fakir watched as Ahiru screwed up her lips in annoyance. Autor was resoundingly bad at reading his conversation partners.

“You look gorgeous tonight,” Autor stated suddenly, immediately getting a rise out of Fakir.

Ahiru’s cheeks colored and she started fiddling with the program in her hands. “Th-thanks! I don’t get to dress up often, so…” she trailed off, not sure how to respond to him.

Autor gave her a rare, sincere smile. “Well, you should.” He stared at her a moment longer before changing the subject, “Would you like to drink?”

“Oh, uh—Just water is fine!”

Fakir rested his elbows on the high table and stared at Autor’s retreating back, thankful the man had removed himself.

“You never said what you thought of the ballet!” Ahiru leaned forward, her fingers still twisting around the paper in her hands.

“They did well,” Fakir responded.

She pouted. “That’s all?”

Fakir shrugged. “You’re right, they have all improved a great deal.”

Ahiru was satisfied with this. As far as Fakir and praise went, he pretty much just gave them a glowing review. She leaned back and absentmindedly ran her finger along the edge of surprisingly resilient paper.

“Ow!” Ahiru’s cry was sharp.

Autor was headed back to their table when he heard her exclamation and saw her suddenly jerk her hand and drop her program.

Autor quickened his pace to see what the admittedly endearing clumsy girl had done, but Fakir’s actions made him stop short. Even in the loud room, Autor could hear him clearly.

“Idiot! Are you okay?”

Ahiru’s poppy-colored curls bounced around her shoulders as she nodded, one of her fingers nestled between her peach lips. She released it shortly to respond to him, though Autor couldn’t make out what she had said.

He watched in stupefaction as Fakir gently took her hand into his own and inspected the injured digit. The girl watched him with wide blue eyes as he examined her finger.

Not long ago, the same girl had burned her hand serving Autor coffee and had refused to let him even look at it. Now here she stood, her cheeks flushed and with what Autor could only assume was a negligible cut, as his rival cradled her hand.

And Autor understood what he had always known: he didn’t stand a chance.

He sighed, ignoring the crushing feeling of disappointment, as he continued back to the table.

“A water for the lovely lady.” Autor announced as he set the glass of water before her.

Surprised, Ahiru pulled her hand from Fakir’s. “Oh! Thanks!”

Autor inclined his head politely before beginning, “I wish I could stick around to speak more about the orchestral score, but I was informed the orchestra is having a meeting. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, Ahiru.”

Ahiru pouted, “Aw, you have to go?”

He felt a bit better knowing she genuinely wanted him to stay, but he was not interested in sticking around the pair any longer. He took her hand to kiss it goodbye, but, suddenly feeling cocky, pressed his lips against her cheek instead. When he pulled back he was delighted to see her face a bright red—as was Fakir’s, but for an undoubtedly very different reason.

“Goodbye, Ahiru.”

She stammered out a farewell, her face growing brighter by the second.

He flashed a smug grin at the fuming male next to her, “Fakir.”

Autor may have lost the war, but he was satisfied to have won some of the battles.

 

* * *

 

Ahiru settled into her bed for the night. Her hair was tightly braided once again, thanks to Fakir’s help, and she was happy to be out of her fancy clothes and in her most comfortable nightgown.

She stared at the stars flickering outside her window as she sunk into her mattress. The ballet had been even better than she predicted, but something didn’t sit quite right with her.

How could the Prince trap the firebird and then make her fight his fights? And then what? They thank her and go on with their lives? Didn’t she deserve better?

Her eyes fluttered shut and gray twinkled from beneath her blankets, along with the stars in the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone, for reading! I'm hoping to get the next chapter out for Valentine's Day, but forgive me if I am unable.
> 
> I watched multiple productions of _The Firebird_ while writing this to make sure my representation was as accurate as possible, and my most recently adopted (always adopt, kids!) feline baby, Pixel the Destroyer/ballet enthusiast, helped me. He also helped me with some editing by walking across my laptop and deleting half of this chapter. Thank goodness for crtl + z, amirite? 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and, as always, feel free to notify me of any grammatical errors. I try my best to catch them, and go back every so often to do a read-through and make sure there aren't more, but no one's perfect!


	10. Din

_Once upon a time, there was a girl who was unable to express her love. Overtime, those who she cared about drifted away from her. Slowly, her heart began to grow hard, and soon even her words of love became stony. Eventually, even the one she loved most left her, as her love had become nothing more than hate._

Large gears moved at a leisurely pace, their brass dull in the darkness. Yet, somehow, a lone figure stood, perfectly illuminated. The figure wore a maroon inverness cape with a green lizard wrapping around the back to the collar. Multiple feathers of varying colors protruded from his wide-brimmed hat, mirroring the way his white hair protruded from beneath it. The figure stroked the tip of his white beard, which was styled to look like a French _fleur-de-lis_.

_Click. Click. Click._

The horizontal gear he stood on was large enough that it barely moved with each click. He tapped one of his brown buckled shoes along to the rhythm.

_Rat tat tat_

A new sound joined the steady clicking of the gears, this one light and tinny. Large, red eyes shot over to the source of the new sound, his gloved hand releasing his whiskers.

A tiny girl tapping on a red and white drum strapped around her torso came into view. The seafoam green curls atop her head bouncing with each march-like step she took.

“Uzura! Now where have you been?” Drosselmeyer crossed his arms, one of his thick, bushy eyebrows arched suspiciously.

Uzura looked up at him, innocence oozing form her very being. “I was ‘splorin’, zura!” She tapped at her ever-present drum as if challenging him to question her again.

Drosselmeyer narrowed his eyes, regarding the small girl skeptically. “Hm.”

She cocked her head to the side, her wide eyes staring unblinkingly into his.

“Oooh!” Drosselmeyer relented, dropping his arms—and quite literally one of his hands—to his sides. “I don’t have time to keep tabs on you, I’m working on a masterpiece. You’re old enough to be taking care of yourself—how old are you, again?”

“What’s ‘old,’ zura?”

He sighed and gave her one last dubious stare before picking up his fallen hand. “Right, right.” The deceased writer readjusted his loose limb. “Just don’t go running off too far. We don’t want anything to impede upon our magnum opus.”

“Oooooh, our opus, zura!” Uzura nodded her head as if she was in total understanding.

Drosselmeyer patted her hair as he walked passed her. Taking her on as an apprentice was a risk, he knew. She was so tiny and so very curious—getting into trouble unnoticed was a second nature to her. She was nothing like her predecessor, Edel, who—though she would develop a defiant spirit—followed her role flawlessly. Uzura was certainly a wildcard, but Drosselmeyer always liked being on his toes.

Uzura turned to watch him go in wonder, her hands unconsciously starting a rhythmic tapping.

“They’re going to be lovey-dovey, zura,” she whispered when the man’s cape disappeared into darkness.

 

* * *

 

Fakir groaned and raked his fingers through his bangs again. Stupid ballet. Stupid Autor. Who did he think he was?

It had been two weeks since he took Ahiru to see _The Firebird_ at Autor’s invite, and for two weeks the sight of Autor pressing his smarmy-ass lips against Ahiru’s soft cheek haunted him. He needed to focus. He needed not to think about the way Ahiru blushed pleasantly in response, or how she stammered out a quackish ‘bye,’ or how she struggled to form a complete thought for the next several minutes. That was not how she was supposed to react to that _asshole_.

He needed to clear his mind. So, Fakir did what he always did when he needed to take his mind off of things: he walked to the library.

The library rarely changed. It was usually the same patrons scattered throughout the stacks—with the occasional smattering of various students, especially around exam time. The familiarity was comforting to Fakir, so it came as a surprise to him when a familiar, but misplaced, duck-girl stood between two tall shelves in the back of the building, studying a row of books before her.

“Ahiru?”

She squawked in response, turning so fast she lost her balance and fell backwards. “F-Fakir!”

A vicious shushing came from a nearby librarian.

Ahiru continued in a loud whisper, “Y-you surprised me! Aren’t you supposed to be helping Charon?”

Fakir covered the distance between them in a few strides and offered her his hand before pulling her up to her feet. “He sent me home early.”

“O-oh!” Ahiru wiped at the pale pink, high-waisted shorts she wore.

“What are you doing here?”

Ahiru looked up at him, her face matching her shorts. “I-uhm… I finished my chores early, and there uh, was nothing else to do. So, I just… came here, I guess?”

Fakir raised an eyebrow. “Okay…”

“But, uhm, now you’re here, so I guess I’ll join you? Unless you don’t want me to, of course.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Fakir responded, turning away from her.

She smiled at him. “Awesome! I’ll go grab some fairytales for you to overanalyze and ruin for me!”

He rolled his eyes as she strode past him quickly. He was about to follow her when a sudden impulse drew him to look at the genre title posted above the section she was inspecting.

“Occult?” his brow furrowed. Why would Ahiru be reading on the occult? Did she even know what occult was? He shook his head. “Weirdo,” he muttered before following after her.

Ahiru placed a hand over her rapidly beating heart as she headed towards the shelves of books housing the fairytales. Fakir was definitely not supposed to be here today. “Calm down, Ahiru,” she whispered to herself, “He doesn’t know why you’re here. It’s fine. You’re fine.”

She exhaled heavily, trying to quiet her nerves.

Ahiru paused by the stacks she was heading to, vaguely familiar hushed voices from a few rows over piquing her interest.

“—so much to ask?”

“—label this?”

She couldn’t make out exactly what was being said, but from what she could catch, it sounded like a lover’s quarrel. Not wanting to get involved in such a sensitive subject, Ahiru started to turn away when she saw the blonde pigtails in pink ribbons. ‘Lilie?’

“Hey moron, did you forget where the section is?” Fakir asked, an eyebrow raised.

Ahiru glanced back where she had seen her friend from long ago, but Fakir’s voice must’ve scared her off. Turning her full attention back to Fakir, she stuck her tongue out at him. “ _No_ … I thought I heard something.”

Dropping his teasing tone, Fakir lifted up a book, waving it a few times. “The library got a new anthology in, I thought you’d like to check it out.”

Ahiru smiled, “Sounds good to me!” The two walked to the table they both thought of as “their” table, and Ahiru shot one final glance where she thought she saw Lilie. She shouldn’t get involved. She already decided she’d let go of Pique and Lilie; spare them from the pain she was selfishly inflicting upon Fakir and Charon. And she wasn’t positive it was Lilie in the first place.

But what if Lilie needed someone to talk to?

She bit her lip. She shouldn’t, but she was definitely going to.

 

* * *

 

Fakir could tell Ahiru’s mind was anywhere but the fairy tale he was reading to her in hushed tones. Strange, since this particular one was by d’Aulnoy, and Ahiru usually loved her work. He put down the anthology, leaving Belle-Belle and her servants’ story unfinished. Ahiru didn’t even seem to notice he stopped reading.

“Something on your mind?”

A brief moment passed before Ahiru seemed to register he was talking to her. “Hm? Oh!” She turned her head toward him in surprise. “Uhm, yeah… I think it’s fine…” After seeing his perplexed expression, she scratched the back of her head in embarrassment. “Haha, uhh… what did you say?”

Fakir sighed before repeating himself, “Is something on your mind?”

“Oh, not really!”

He raised an eyebrow at this. “Really? Then what do you think about the story so far?”

“I uhm… like the… uh…” she faded off, knowing it was pointless. “Sorry,” she looked away from him sheepishly, “I guess I was daydreaming.”

“That’s fine,” Fakir shrugged as he closed the tome in front of him.

“Ah—!” Ahiru objected, undoubtedly too loudly, “I mean, we could keep reading, I didn’t mean to—”

Fakir stopped her with a wave of his hand, “I said it’s fine. It was a cliché, anyway.”

Ahiru narrowed her eyes. “Aren’t all fairy tales a cliché?”

“Yes.” She made a face at his response, but Fakir ignored her. “I was going to say, it’s a nice day, maybe we should go for a walk instead.”

“That sounds nice… Okay!” Ahiru jumped up from her seat, and Fakir couldn’t help but smile at her ceaseless boisterousness.

He stood and Ahiru followed him as he placed the book in the return cart. It wasn’t until they left the library that either said anything.

“So… Where to?”

Fakir absentmindedly rubbed at his chin. He actually didn’t have a destination in mind when he suggested it. He’d already had lunch—and he was pretty sure his nerves weren’t ready for another public meal alone with Ahiru and her penchant for sharing food—so going to a café or restaurant wasn’t sensible. They just left the library, so it certainly wasn’t rational to go back.

Ahiru watched him contemplate with pursed lips. She hadn’t meant the question to be a difficult one. After another moment of silence passed, she decided to curtail his deliberation. “That’s okay! We don’t have to go anywhere in particular! It’s the company that makes it worthwhile, right?” She turned on the ball of her foot and set out in a random direction with a comically overexaggerated march.

Fakir chuckled and went after her, “Alright, but I’m not going to walk with you if you keep that up the entire time.”

She scowled at him, but stopped all the same. “Hmph, you’re no fun.”

“No, you’re just ridiculous.”

Ahiru made a face at him before dropping it a few seconds later. Unexpectedly, she changed the subject, “Fakir, do you think you’ll take over the smithy after Charon retires?”

Fakir blinked in surprise. “I don’t know, why do you ask?”

“You don’t? You spend an awful lot of time there.”

Fakir didn’t answer and looked at his hands. They were growing more calloused from helping his surrogate father at his vocation, and his arms had grown sturdier. He did know. “No, I don’t plan on it.”

Ahiru tilted her head up towards him, “Do you think he’ll be disappointed?”

Fakir grew quiet again. He wanted to say no, but he didn’t know. That’s why he avoided the topic like the plague with Charon. Of course he had no interest in taking on Charon’s mantle as the town blacksmith. Fakir, naturally, appreciated the art, and felt he learned quite a bit from helping his guardian, but it wasn’t a profession he saw himself happy carrying on. However, in his most private of moments, he had to admit he wasn’t sure he could make enough money to live off of by writing. There was no guarantee anyone would want to read his work, no promise words would flow when he needed them to. And if he couldn’t afford to support himself, how could he support Ahiru as well? Or if they ha—

“You know, I’m pretty sure he just wants you to be happy. That’s what someone who cares about you does, right? I don’t think he’d be upset with you if you decided not to become a blacksmith.” Ahiru nodded resolutely, certain she had the right answer. “Besides, he’s told me he knows you like to write, and he thinks you’re really good at it. I think he wouldn’t be surprised if you wanted to become a writer.”

Fakir sighed, “What brings this up, anyway?”

Ahiru clasped her hands behind her back and looked up at the sky. “Oh, nothing. I guess I was just wondering what you’d do after—” she stopped abruptly, her eyes wide and her face coloring at her mistake.

“After what?”

She began gesturing wildly with her hands, trying to dismiss any suspicious thoughts Fakir might be forming, “Oh—oh, uh, you know, after… like, you grow up! But like, I guess you’re already grown up, so that was probably really stupid of me, huh?” She paused briefly before adding, “I’ll shut up now.”

Fakir didn’t comment on her outburst, so she figured she might have gotten out of her blunder scot-free. A beat later he asked, “What do you plan on doing?”

She stopped stone cold. “What?”

“You don’t plan on going back to the academy, for ballet anyway, so what do you plan on doing?”

“Uhm… doing, how?”

“With your life?”

Ahiru couldn’t bring herself to look at him. She felt like her heart stopped. Of course she didn’t think about what she was going to do with her life: she was going to die in however many months she had left, but she couldn’t say that to Fakir. “I, uh…”

Fakir patted her shoulder reassuringly, “It’s alright, I was a little older than you are now when I started to get just an inkling of what I wanted to do.”

“Uh, yeah…” She didn’t miss the teasing tone of his voice, but shot him a grateful look anyway, though she was banking on him misinterpreting what exactly she was grateful for.

Part of her was tempted to think of all the things she could choose from if her life wasn’t already ill-fated, what she would do with freedom if she had it. Part of her wanted to imagine a life where she and Fakir were friends forever and she grew old and had a career. Part of her really, _really_ wanted to, but she knew it would only be too painful. She quashed the hopeful whispers in her head; futures were not for those who were going to die soon.

“Oh!” Ahiru exclaimed, her previous thoughts melting into nonexistence. Somehow during their aimless walk, they managed to wander to the pond she used to habitate.

Fakir sensed some hesitation in Ahiru’s demeanor. Was this the first time they came back to the lake since she became a girl again? Maybe she didn’t want to be here after all. “We can leave,” he offered.

Despite the occasional half-formed plans to come here together, Ahiru’s feelings toward the small body of water had started souring. Regardless, it felt strangely comforting to see it again. It was that foreign feeling when you visit a childhood home you haven’t seen in years—familiar, but entirely alien. As Ahiru stared at the pond that she hadn’t returned to in months, she smiled. That pond was no longer her home, nor would it ever be again. From this side, it was just a pond. A pond that had changed so much since she last watched Fakir’s back retreat to society without her. It seemed so much happier and peaceful than what she remembered.

“No,” Ahiru’s bright eyes shone up at him, “that’s alright. It’s been a while.”

Fakir stared at her back as she walked past him and to the dock he had spent years sitting on as she bobbed alongside him. Quietly, she kicked off her white sandals and sat down, dangling her feet over the edge of the dock. The powder blue ruffles of the crop top she wore rustled in a light breeze and he tried to swallow the lump that had been growing in his throat since he realized where they were.

Last time he was here, she wore light blue, too. And she smiled at him the same way, before she poured him a glass of blood and became some dark, twisted version of her former alter-ego.

A distinct black mask flashed in his mind.

 _Ahiru is dead_.

It was just a dream.

_You killed her, remember?_

It was just a—

“Fakir! Aren’t you going to join me?!” Ahiru scowled at him over her shoulder.

He pushed the intrusive thoughts out of his head. “Yeah, yeah. Just hold on.” He rolled up his pant legs before taking his shoes and socks off and sitting down beside her.

Ahiru beamed as she threw her arms out to the sun. “You were right! It _is_ a nice day today.” She soaked in its rays for a moment before dropping her arms back to her sides. “I’m actually sorta glad we ended up here!”

“Hm?”

“I dunno, I haven’t been back here since I was a duck, and I just… The past few weeks I’ve been thinking more and more about how this place was like a… a… cage. Which is probably silly because not too long ago I wanted to come back here, and I missed it a little bit.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, and her face on her hands. “But! Now that I’m here, it doesn’t feel like this-this looming… _villain_ from the past.”

“Why didn’t you say anything before?”

Ahiru shrugged, “I dunno. Seemed dumb and unimportant.”

Fakir groaned. “Your feelings aren’t dumb and unimportant, okay? I’m always going to be here for you, I promised.”

Ahiru straightened up and regarded him gratefully.  “Thanks, Fakir. You really are an amazing friend.”

She smiled that smile that only Ahiru could smile. Where her entire face lit up, and her one dimple winked at you, and she made you feel like you were the most important thing in the world. Like you were the only thing that existed. Fakir’s breathing slowed as he studied her face, and the word ‘friend’ rang in his mind.

And Fakir did something he told himself he wouldn’t.

Maybe it was the way her eyes sparkled, or that stupidly adorable way her nose crinkled when she grinned, or the sound of his name on her tongue, or maybe it was the way her bangs messily framed her face, or how she was the most beautiful person he had ever seen in his life.

Fakir couldn’t tell you what possessed him, or what detail completely destroyed the carefully constructed wall of self-control he had been building since she first held his hand in that underground lake.

But he could tell you that her lips were the softest things his had ever touched. That her skin radiated warmth which felt so welcoming. That she smelled sweet and floral. That the flutter of her eyelashes against his skin left a delightful tingling sensation in their wake. That the moment he finally let go and kissed her was easily the best moment of his life. That it was so much better than he had ever let himself imagine.

And then reality came crashing down on him. He pulled away abruptly, and he couldn’t even bring himself to look at her wide eyes or crimson face.

A moment of frozen silence passed.

“Fa—”

“—I-uh…” Fakir stood abruptly. “Sorry.” He spoke and moved so quickly Ahiru could barely process what was happening.

He grabbed his socks and shoes, not even bothering to put them back on, and fled.

Ahiru watched Fakir’s retreating figure, her brain moving at a glacial pace. Slowly, she lifted her fingers to her lips, where just moments ago Fakir’s had been.

Did that really just happen?

Suddenly she felt like crying.

 

* * *

 

By the time Ahiru finally found her wits and came home, Charon was almost finished cooking dinner.

“Ah, there you are!” Charon greeted her. She stood, wide-eyed in the hall outside the kitchen. “Dinner will be ready soon; do you mind setting the table?”

Ahiru nodded dumbly and went to collect three plates.

“You alright there, kiddo?”

The girl shook her head, trying to rid it of all the incomprehensible thoughts that plagued it. “Yeah, uh… just… y’know.” She shrugged.

“One of those days?”

“Mm…” She struggled to form words.

Charon nodded sagely, having had many of those days himself. Ahiru was thankful he didn’t push the subject.

Mere moments after Ahiru placed the last glass, Charon announced dinner was ready. He tapped his ladle on the side of the pot before setting it down on a ceramic spoon rest. “Go ahead and serve yourself, I’ll go get Fakir.”

She wasn’t really hungry, so Ahiru gave herself a small helping of stew and bread. She sat down and pushed a potato around her bowl with a spoon. What was she going to say to Fakir? How was she supposed to react? She still didn’t know how she felt or how to process what happened. And Charon was going to be there, which made her even more uncomfortable. But it’s not like she could just… avoid him.

The sound of the wooden stairs creaking made her stiffen. Her spoon froze, and she stared at the now still potato like it was her only life line.

“Guess it’s just you and me tonight. Fakir said he’s busy right now.” Charon announced as he entered the kitchen.

Her shoulders sagged. “Oh,” it came out as an exhale, as if the air had been knocked out of her. She felt like crying again.

“You guys fighting again?” Charon asked as he picked up his bowl and filled it. Fakir had been equally despondent.

Ahiru listened to the familiar crunch of the bread knife breaking through the crispy crust of the bread as Charon cut himself a slice. “No,” she finally answered.

“Hm.” The chair scraped against the floor boards as he pulled it out to sit down.

The two ate in silence, and Ahiru forced herself to finish what she had taken. When she was finally done, she stood and began collecting her dishes.

“Don’t worry about it,” Charon waved her off, “I can tell you’re tired. Just go rest.”

Ahiru set her bowl back down and thanked him, making a mental note to put on a better mental state the next time she saw him.

She trudged up the stairs and rested her hand on her door knob. Biting her lip, she glanced down the hallway at Fakir’s door. Should she go talk to him? She opened the door and closed it softly behind her. He was the one who was avoiding her.

 

* * *

 

Fakir buried his face in his hands, the scene replaying and replaying in his head. He careened between wistful and absolutely mortified. Her lips were soft and warm and holy shit he should not have done that.

“Idiot!” He cursed, smacking his forehead. How could he do something so stupid? He promised himself he’d never take advantage of her. He didn’t even ask for her permission! He just… just _did_ it! She probably hated him. He wouldn’t blame her.

Of course he wanted to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her probably before he even realized he did. How many fantasies of his involved that very action? Sure, he had denied it; sure, he had refused to admit it to even himself, but he was pretty certain he was beyond that point now. And he just did it—no preamble, no romance, no indication she was receptive—just forced his lips on hers.

And god save him, he wanted to do it again. How disgusting was he? He could never speak with her again.

Fakir slammed his face into his knees, willing his greatest mistake to stop playing in his head.

He could never face her again.

 

* * *

 

Morning came and gone, and though Ahiru had done her chores she hardly remembered doing them. Her mind was focused one thing.

‘Did I just imagine it?’ She wondered, her fingers touching her bottom lip.

She didn’t know what was happening, it went so fast and so slow all at once. She had said something, she didn’t even remember what she said. And his face was closer and then… His lips were really warm, hot even. And they were chapped. And the breath from his nose tickled her skin. And he smelled… familiar. And then he was gone.

Her face was hot again, and she wished she could just stop thinking about it already.

‘I definitely did not imagine it,’ she decided.

But what did it mean? She remembered a time when she would flail about in glee just imagining Mytho doing to her what Fakir had done. But, maybe… _that_ kind of thing wasn’t as cut and dry as she once thought. Not long ago, Autor had kissed her cheek, and she knew he didn’t have any feelings for her. Maybe it was the same sort of thing. But he… _her lips_! And why did he run away? And why was he avoiding her? Autor hadn’t talked to her since, but she didn’t live with Autor.

If she was being honest with herself, it pissed her off. He was the one who had… had… done _that_ , how was it fair he was just avoiding her now?

It was one in the afternoon and Fakir hadn’t even left his room to use the bathroom. She shook her head. She would go insane if she spent another minute waiting for him. So, she went for a walk.

The weather was as nice as it was yesterday, and the town was just as lively as it always was. Ahiru walked aimlessly, her eyes following the cracks in the road. When the road ended, she just stared at her feet as they moved in tandem.

“Ugh!” A girlish cry of frustration broke Ahiru out of her stupor, and for the first time she looked at her surroundings. She was in a forest, the trees lush and green. Further up the path was a small figure sitting under a tree. Ahiru recognized those blonde curls anywhere. Wait, was she crying? Her pendant flashed a bright white.

“Lilie?” She gulped. Every instinct in her told her to run to Lilie’s side and hold her until she felt better. But, Lilie didn’t remember Ahiru. Ahiru knew Lilie would not be as receptive to the comfort of a stranger as she would a friend.

She dashed behind a tree before Lilie could look up and gripped her gem. It hurt in ways she couldn’t comprehend, not being able to be there for Lilie as Ahiru—but she could be there for her as Princess Tutu. She closed her eyes, welcoming the liquid warmth of her transformation.

The moment Princess Tutu stood _en pointe_ , she quickly approached her friend, coming to a stop before Lilie’s slumped-over form.

Lilie slowly looked up at the prima ballerina, her green eyes full of tears.

“What pains you, so?” Princess Tutu asked, her voice light but concerned.

Lilie tried to furtively wipe the tears from her eyes. “Are you worried about me? Aw, how cute!” She tried to keep her voice chipper, but it wavered.

Princess Tutu rotated her hands in her trademark mime. “Won’t you come dance with me?” She asked with her hand outstretched.

Lilie nodded and wiped her eyes on her sleeve before letting the ballerina pull her to her feet. She was deceptively strong. Normally, Lilie wouldn’t accept invitations from strange, glowing ballerinas who approached her in the woods while she was vulnerable—not that it happened before—but this one seemed… trustworthy. She seemed kind and caring and like she could actually help Lilie with the emotions she struggled with. And she seemed… almost familiar. Like a long-forgotten dream that eddied beneath the lake of her memory.

Having studied ballet for many years now, Lilie did not struggle to keep up with the prima ballerina’s movements, and the two danced a beautiful _pas de deux_. “I have these feelings,” Lilie admitted, “I don’t know how to explain them.”

Princess Tutu dipped Lilie and stared encouragingly into her eyes. Lilie stretched her arms out gracefully, letting the dance elicit the emotions she struggled to put into words.

“It’s like I had someone I loved, someone who was so important to me, but they’re gone, and I don’t even remember them.” She leaned back against Princess Tutu’s chest, the mime for love coming naturally to her hands. “Sometimes, in my dreams, I get these shadows of a memory—cheerful blue eyes, caramel colored freckles, a laugh—and they’re gone. But I keep feeling like… like maybe she’ll come back to me.”

Princess Tutu’s heart ached for her friend. She had no idea Lilie had felt that way. She held Lilie’s waist as she performed a _jeté_.

“And I’m trying to move on, because she probably never existed and I’m seeing someone, and I can tell it’s killing her that I just can’t commit fully to her!” Lilie cried. “What if that other girl came back? I keep thinking, if I could only remember her, she’d come back to me. We could be together.”

“Sometimes,” Princess Tutu began, leading Lilie through a series of _chaînés_ , “our hearts fear moving forward. Sometimes, we hold on to things we don’t understand because at least they are familiar. But, we have to move on. If it cannot be fixed, it’s okay to let it go.”

Lilie nodded, her blonde curls bouncing on her shoulders. “Yes, I can’t do anything about someone I can’t even remember, but…”

“You are allowed to move on from old feelings you can’t place, it is not a betrayal to take care of yourself.” Princess Tutu assured her.

Lilie nodded again. “You’re right. It’s only hurting me not to let go, and… it’s hurting Malen.”

Princess Tutu smiled as they twirled around each other.

“I care about Malen a lot, and I can’t let a phantom stop me from being happy.”

Lilie bowed to her partner; her heart felt lighter. “Thank you.” Before she could straighten back up, a black light shot from her chest, causing her to lurch forward as her consciousness faded. Princess Tutu lunged for her, catching her as the light entered her pendant, eliciting a pained groan. Her transformation faded as she fell to her knees, Lilie leaning against her, but she managed to stay conscious.

Ahiru felt like the wind had been knocked from her. Her chest pounded and Lilie’s body was heavy against her shoulder. She exhaled a few times before she felt she could gather her senses.

She looked down at the mess of blonde hair obscuring her view. “Lilie?” No response came.

Well, she couldn’t leave her out here alone. Ahiru exhaled in preparation before standing up, pulling Lilie with her. In the past, Lilie loved to lean all over her, so Ahiru had been familiar with her weight, but she was heavier than before. A few years probably did that teenagers. Ahiru grunted in determination as she turned and hefted Lilie onto her back. She could do this.

She looked down at her feet, and her heart stopped as she saw the murky gray of the pendant shining on her chest—a deep contrast to the white she was used to. She bit her lip as she watched it slowly grow dimmer in color. A few moments passed before it returned to the pearly white she was used to. She shook her head. She couldn’t deal with this now. She had too much going on, not to mention she had Lilie to worry about. No, she would deal with this later.

Resolute, Ahiru stared straight ahead, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. “I’ll get you back to town, Lilie,” she ground out.

Ahiru had wandered further out into the woods than she thought and had to stop a few times to give herself a break. By the time she reached the town, her muscles were screaming.

“The dorms aren’t… too much further…” She murmured half to herself, half to the passed-out Lilie.

Further up the road was a wooden bench, and Ahiru was desperate to take another break.

“Lilie?!” A cry drew Ahiru’s attention from the wooden oasis she was so focused on. A sage-haired girl ran up to her.

‘Malen,’ Ahiru recognized thankfully. She shrugged to reposition Lilie on her shoulders. “Oh!” Ahiru greeted the artist, “Do you know her?”

“Yes!” Her dark blue eyes flashed in concern as she reached out for the other girl’s face. “She’s my—uhm, well… yes, I know her.”

Ahiru smiled wearily, “Do you mind helping me get her to that bench? She’s a little heavy.”

“Of course!” Malen quickly adjusted the girl between them and together got her to the bench.

“Phew!” Ahiru sighed in relief and slumped into the bench.

Malen had positioned Lilie so her head was in her lap. She brushed the blonde’s bangs out of her eyes. “What happened to her? Is she okay?”

Ahiru peered over at Malen. The way her fingers caressed Lilie’s cheek spoke volumes. She was glad her friend had found someone who cared so much for her. “She seems fine, I just found her like that in the forest.”

Malen frowned and began combing her fingers through the girl’s blonde curls. “Silly girl, she’s always being reckless.” Malen looked at the girl slouched over next to her, her voice suddenly sheepish. “I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Malen.”

Ahiru smiled, “Ahiru.”

“Ahiru?” Malen repeated, “What an unusual name, how cute!”

Ahiru stifled a giggle. Malen had definitely been spending a lot of time with Lilie.

“Thank you for helping her, I really appreciate it.” Malen said, looking back at the girl in her lap.

“It wasn’t a problem really,” Ahiru waved her hand dismissively.

Lilie’s green eyes began fluttering open. Her voice was slightly raspy, “Malen?”

“Lilie!” Malen’s voice was stern as if she was admonishing her, but a big grin gave her away. “And just what were you up to?”

Lilie smiled and closed her eyes. “I had a wonderful dream.”

“Oh?”

Lilie nodded, “I dreamed of a beautiful swan, and it told me something.”

“What?”

“That I was lucky to have such a wonderful girlfriend.”

Malen’s dark blue eyes became glassy, her grin becoming heartfelt. “Lilie…”

Lilie playfully poked the girl’s nose. “Aw, you’re all atwitter because you finally won the war and earned a beautiful maiden. How cute.”

Malen rolled her eyes, used to her recently-declared girlfriend’s antics. “Oh, be quiet.”

Ahiru smiled briefly. She was happy for Lilie, but the last thing she wanted to be around was a cutesy couple. She left, leaving them to moon over each other in peace. She was fairly certain they didn’t even notice her go.

_“…cheerful blue eyes, caramel colored freckles…”_

Ahiru swallowed and shoved her hands in the pockets of the shorts she wore. There was no way Lilie had a crush on her all those years ago. Surely she would have known if one of her best friends had feelings for her. She combed through her memories of all her interactions with Lilie. All the times Lilie incited her to fight for love, all the times she insisted Ahiru’s clumsiness was such an endearing trait. She didn’t think Lilie had feelings for her.

But only she had disappeared from Lilie’s life—minus Mr. Cat, of course, but _he_ was definitely not a _she_. Who else could it be?

Ahiru pinched the bridge of her nose, something she had seen Fakir do when he was frustrated. She wasn’t sure why though, because it did not seem to do anything to alleviate her headache.

She felt like screaming. She couldn’t deal with all these emotions being flung at her—she didn’t even know what her own feelings were. Everything was a tangled-up mess, and wow did she wish she could just go a little while without having to deal with any emotions.

The fountain by the school wasn’t far from where she was, so she decided to head over there. Water’s supposed to be tranquil, right? She flopped down on the stone lip of the fountain, staring down at her rippling reflection. She looked exhausted.

It used to be one of the places she’d meet Fakir back before they beat the Raven. Actually, towards the end of her time as a human, there were days when the only person she saw was Fakir. At some point, he had become her best friend, and he’s been her best friend since.

Did she see her and Fakir becoming something more than just best friends, though? She shook her head and pressed her eyes against her palm. She didn’t know. She didn’t even want to try and imagine the future—she didn’t have a future. She didn’t know if Fakir actually had those kinds of feelings for her. If he did, would he have run away from her? Avoided her?

Now here she was, dealing with this mess of confusion by herself. And suddenly she realized how cripplingly lonely she was. All she had was Fakir. Drosselmeyer had taken everything else from her. Rue and Mytho had disappeared into his story. Lilie and Pique didn’t remember her.

Autor, who she recently made friends with, stopped hanging out with her since the concert.

‘Another boy who kissed me and ran,’ she thought, bitterly.

Her head really hurt. Her thoughts were making less and less sense. A cacophony raged in her mind, the din crescendoing the more she tried to think. ‘Too much,’ she pressed her hands roughly to her ears, wishing it would do anything to dampen the deafening noise. ‘Too much!’ It wouldn’t quiet. ‘STOP!’

She wanted to scream, she wanted to kick her legs and punch her arms and to just stop all the feelings. Her hands pressed at her ears as tight as she could manage, her nails digging into her scalp, drawing blood in some places.

And then it stopped.

Ahiru let her arms drop to her sides and stared blankly at her reflection. Her eyes were darker than normal.

She stood.

She walked home.

She didn’t feel a thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to get this chapter out. I ended up rewriting the kiss scene multiple times and it took a while for me to really feel satisfied with it. I hope everyone enjoys it!
> 
> Also, after years of internal debate, I have decided it is time I accept Mytho is the correct spelling, not Mythos. So, I started implementing the change in this chapter and will go back and edit the previous chapters soon. 
> 
> Thank you for your support!


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